


Sacrifice Yourself, Captain

by Centelope



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Suicide, Basically if you like Jim!Angst then you've come to the right place, Eventual Drug Abuse, Friendship, Hurt!Jim, Hurt/Comfort, Major Injury, Mentions of Suicide, Panic Attacks, Paralysis, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-03-07 19:41:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 47,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13441947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Centelope/pseuds/Centelope
Summary: Jim is threatened to sacrifice himself. If he doesn't there will be disastrous consequences.Apparently, being shoved off a 30ft balcony isn't enough.Rated T for obvious reasons.





	1. Chapter 1

Kirk’s body slammed into the turbolift, fingers flickering over the phaser to power it on while the doors shut.

“Engineering.” He called out to the voice command recognition, standing three feet away from the door, ready to pounce as it opened.

His communicator chirped.

“Kirk here,” he announced, flipping the communicator open with his free hand, his eyes focusing on the floor numbers increasing in value every second that went by.

Engineering is located on deck 8.

“Spock here, Captain. We believe the savage crew member is attacking a lieutenant in engineering. I’ve requested security guards to accompany you.”

_Deck 5…6…_

“Already on my way there, Spock. Have you identified who it is yet?”

_Deck 8._

“Negative, Captain. Although I believe you’re about to find out.”

_Shoosh!_

Kirk strode past the turbolift doors, his eyes flitting around the large area for signs of anyone running.

“I’ll let you know if we’ve caught them. Tell the security guards to fan out from me, we can cover more ground that way.”

“But Captain—”

“That’s an order, Spock! The longer that son of a bitch is out there, the more likely my crew are at risk of being attacked. Kirk out.” He snapped the communicator shut without regret, beginning to search the area for the attacker.

Along a large narrow stairwell, Kirk saw a figure in the distance trapezing across a passageway, 3 decks above him in a dead sprint.

“Hey!”

The man turned to the source of the voice, jumped in surprise and darted off in another direction, running to a series of stairs.

Swearing under his breath, Kirk set his phaser to stun and shot at the figure.

The sound of the shot hitting metal reverbed across the room, sparks spitting outwardly from the missed target.

“Shit,” Kirk muttered, then continued to run after him “Lieutenant! Identity yourself!”

The man jumped off a railing to a lower deck and shot several times at a pole, causing it and numerous other beams below it to collapse like dominoes.

“Lieutenant! That’s an order!” in response, all Kirk got was more shots fired and pieces of metal collapsing around him.

As a large beam collapsed right in front of him, Kirk stumbled back and darted off in another direction.

Perhaps his plan to prove his mightiness and ‘go it alone’ wasn’t such a good idea.

Fumbling for his communicator, he ran up another flight of stairs, “Kirk to bridge, I have the adversary in engineering, section 25A, heading for 26C, I need immediate backup!”

_BANG!_

The entire room felt like it was breaking apart, and the smell of smoke quickly invaded Kirk’s nostrils.

“Captain, security is homing in on your location. Are you alright?”

Kirk glanced over the side of the balcony, vertigo quickly swarming his vision but correcting itself. A fire had started on the third floor.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he murmured, gazing at the fire as it began crawling its way up the stairs, “There’s an uncontained fire that’s started on the third floor, it’s spreading.”

“Acknowledged, Captain. Recommend ordering an evacuation of the vicinity.”

Kirk was about to refuse and say it was better not to cause a scare, but another bulkhead suddenly toppled down into the fire, sending the flames raging in a treeless forest fire.

“Approved. Sound the alarm throughout engineering.”

“Acknowledged. I recommend not apprehending the man further, Captain, it is only resulting in destruction. We should wait until he is in a less volatile location.”

Kirk sighed, tucking his phaser into his belt but keeping it charged, just in case. “Understood, Spock.”

Not even a moment later, a loud ear-piercing klaxon began vibrating through the room, the whole area dimming a shade of red. Spock’s voice soon followed.

“Alert to all crewmembers, a large uncontained fire in engineering is resulting in this notice of evacuation, please escort yourself to a safe location.”

Kirk scoffed,

_He could at least be a bit a quicker with the speech considering the circumstances._

Several redshirts swarmed the area—security guards, Kirk thought, before suddenly there was a loud shriek of a warrior cry from behind him.

“What the fu—"

Instantly, Kirk was rammed into the railings, hands clasped around his neck before he could even grab his phaser. His eyes bulged out of their sockets as he struggled to breathe.

“Bad move putting away your phaser, Captain.” Hissed a voice from behind.

Groaning, Kirk managed to force his body backwards, sending the man flying into a bulkhead. Quickly he spun around, whipping the phaser out from his pocket and pointing it at the man currently sprawled out on the floor.

“Stay down. There are men coming for me, we’ll get you to a safe place,” he gingerly began running his fingers through the pounding ache forming around his neck.

Bones wasn’t going to be too happy about that.

The prisoner scoffed, “Oh _god_ , shut _up_ , Kirk,” and spat on the floor, “I don’t need safety from the likes of you. Actually, it’s not _me_ that needs to be saved.”

Kirk sighed. More mind games. _Just_ what he needed.

“Uh-huh, and who _does_ need to be saved?” he tried to ignore the ache crawling up his arm from having his phaser pointed at the man for so long.

“You. Your reputation. Your ship.” The man snarled, slowly beginning to get to his feet. Kirk noticed the other phaser on the floor, quickly stepping on it to avoid the man reaching for it.

_Not even this bastard can take my ship away from me._

“I don’t want to shoot you, Kirk,” the man laughed, “I only came to deliver a message, I just wanted to get your attention.”

Kirk rolled his eyes, “Yeah, you’ve got it alright. Stand down, wait for backup to arrive. You’ll have the opportunity to plead not guilty in a court mar—”

“Kirk!” the man shouted, suddenly jumping to his feet and running into the brunt of his phaser. Kirk’s face remained still, in control, regardless of what he was feeling inside.

“Stand back, Lieutenant, or I’ll shoot.”

_Please don’t make me shoot you. I don’t want to hurt you, god damn it. You’re one of us._

The man laughed, “Oh, go on then, shoot me!” he threw his hands up in disbelief, “You’ll get your ship and crew taken away from you because you didn’t bother to listen to me. That’s fine. Go ahead.”

Kirk watched the man’s snarl grow to touch his eyes, before he sighed and relented, “Alright. What is it? What do you want?”

“Prove to me that you can sacrifice yourself for your crew, and we’ll forget all of this ever happened.”

This time, it was Kirk’s turn to laugh. That was a wild request coming from someone who had just tried to kill him.

“Oh, I don’t think so. You’ve attacked a Starfleet Captain, not to mention attacking several crewmembers and causing destruction to a—”

“I don’t give a fuck, Kirk!”

Jim finally shut his mouth.

“You murdered my family in cold blood. I don’t give a fuck about being arrested, court-marshalled, jailed, I don’t care.”

Kirk frowned, what the hell was he going on about now?

“Lieutenant, you’re mistaken…” he chuckled lightly, “I don’t…I didn’t kill your family. You’re human. I don’t…” he took a breath, “Starfleet doesn’t kill humans in cold blood.”

At this moment of weakness, the other man grabbed the phaser from Kirk’s hand and plunged it against his chest.

“That’s where you’re wrong. They died in _your hands._ Under _your ship._ With _your crew._ ”

Jim felt his heart drop to his stomach. A family dying from his own actions? He would never in his right mind dare to do such a thing. This poor grieving man must have lost his family and decided to blame it on someone else.

Now having been thrust up against the balcony railings with a phaser pushed between his ribcage, Kirk was well and truly trapped.

“I don’t understand…” Jim grunted heavily, “Help me to understand, Lieutenant. What happened?”

Kirk watched as the other man’s already fury-induced eyes grew darker, as more false memories continued to cloud this clearly heartbroken man’s judgement.

“They were on a vacation.” The man said quietly, “They took a cargo ship to reach the adjacent planet. I was going to join them when we reached the Starbase KI3 a week ago.” Kirk’s breathing was beginning to match the trembling hand of the man who had his fingers tightened around the phaser.

If he accidently pulled the trigger…

“Do you remember the distress call we received last week? That woman that said her ship had been shot at by Klingons?”

Kirk silently nodded, dreading what information was about to pour out the man’s mouth.

“That was my mother.”

At that, Kirk remained silent, not knowing what to say. He did not kill a crewman’s mother. That was unthinkable. He didn’t.

Did he?

“You said you were on your way to apprehend them, but you took too long.”

A long string of tense silence….

“ _YOU TOOK TOO FUCKING LONG!”_

The phaser was jammed further into Jim’s ribcage, eliciting a small screech of surprise and pain that the cornered Captain just couldn’t hold in. There was bound to be a bruise there later.

“Do it.” The man breathed, “Otherwise I’ll join the allegiance with the Klingons. Tell them everything I know about Starfleet. I’ll tell Starfleet it was you who caused this.”

Kirk felt his chest struggle to contract, both laced with panic and pain from the device lodged between his ribs. He shook his head as if it was his only way to express his reply.

“Do you want that, Captain?” the man snarled.

Kirk stuttered out a shaky groan, “They…will kill…you…the Klingons…will kill you…”

“ _I DON’T CARE!”_

 _“Aargh!”_ Jim screamed in pain as the phaser dug into his ribs again.

“I would rather be dead, either way,” the man admitted quietly. His expression was so contorted with confusion, Jim was waiting to catch him in a weak moment.

“Well…what do you want from me…?” Kirk struggled out in rapid breaths.

“I told you,” the man ground out, his eyes seething with rage again, “Sacrifice yourself.”

Kirk blinked slowly, his heart hammering in his chest, a million thoughts running through his head. Where was security?

“I…can’t…”

Kirk watched as the man in front of him seemingly sifted through seven different emotions, before finally the phaser was pulled away. He let out of breath in relief.

“Fuck you.”

There was a bright blue light, pain in his chest, a sting to his neck, his mouth agape with a silent cry of pain… and then he was falling.

Endlessly falling.

He thought the wind across his face and air breezing across his shirt would never stop.

Broken and complete pieces of metal zoomed by, his mind dimly aware of the sound of the wailing siren in the background.

The cascade of blurred rushing images before him were flashing red, alerting him of a danger. Danger everywhere. It was so loud.

 

Then there was nothingness.

……………….

 

“ _Oh, oh no…”_

_“Are ye’ alrigh’? Sir? Captain?”_

_“Captain!”_

Jim’s brain struggled to process the loud resounding world around him.

A male voice, shouting his name over the defeaning sirens of red alert.

He felt floaty, as if on a cloud, and the ground which he was laying on was just passing through him. His limbs were so heavy, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak.

“Captain? Oh no…” the man’s voice becoming more and more prominent as his mind caught up with present time.

Very slowly, Jim cracked open his eyes.

It felt like struggling through deep water, as if an outside force was pushing him back, stopping him from reaching the surface of water to breathe.

The world was a startling assortment of red. A man hovering over him was wearing a red shirt, lights in the background danced the shade of blood, flashing on and off constantly.

His lagging brain noticed how the sirens became quieter as the lights dimmed out, and then became louder again as the red flooded the whole room.

“Captain? Did ye’ fall from up there?”

Jim dragged his tired eyes back over to the strange accented voice, a voice that hadn’t shut up the moment he broke his way into consciousness.

He couldn’t understand what the man was saying. It was just words with a thick accent, a worried one at that, not to mention the near terrified expression on his face that went with it.

“Do ye understand what am’ asking of ye, Jim? Do you have your communicator?”

A deep frown formed on Jim’s face as his tried to decipher the words. Why couldn’t he understand? His face hardened in sheer intensity as he focused on understanding the voice, but the wheels in his brain just didn’t turn.

“Ach…alrigh’, I need to find a wall panel to tell the good doctor what happened. Don’t ye move, ye hear?”

It was a question, Jim could tell, but he didn’t know what the man was asking of him. Jim’s confused expression seemed to mirror onto the other man’s face, as he frowned in concern, giving him a light pat on the shoulder and standing up to leave him.

Where was he going? His worried panting only grew faster when he tried to understand why he was breathing so rapidly in the first place. What was happening to him? What was going on?

The man quickly returned, a startled expression upon his features, “Don’t ye look so worried, Cap’n. Am gonna be right back, ye hear me?”

Jim narrowed his eyes and shook his head, his breathing growing more rapid as he couldn’t process a word of what was being said.

He bent his head back, eyes darting around the place in desperation as if trying to figure out where he was. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around, there was a bright flame behind him, he wondered if his fall had something to do with that.

When he slumped his head back, he noticed the man was gone. And he was alone again.

Why was he lying here all alone?

Why couldn’t he move?

Why was he breathing so fast?

Why couldn’t he control his breathing?

Why was he struggling to breathe?

Was it the fire behind him?

Was the smoke going to kill him?

 

As all the questions in his head merged together into one, a tiredness loomed over him, a weakness in his limbs that made them more unresponsive than before.

Jim’s attempts at trying to decode the situation drained away, as did his ability to remain conscious.

A black fog descended over his eyes, sinking him into a tunnel, going deeper, and deeper, and deeper…the world becoming further and further away, the sounds of the klaxons echoing and forming into one distorted noise.

Then he knew no more.

………….

 

_“Jim?”_

_“Jim, can you hear me?”_

_“Shit.”_

_“I swear I jus’ found him like this!”_

_“Yeah, I believe you, Scotty,”_

_“McCoy to medbay, I need immediate medical assistance in engineering, and begin setting up a team for surgery in the first suite.”_

_“Acknowledged, sir, we’ll be waiting for you.”_

_“He was definitely awake when you saw him?”_

_“Aye, I tried speaking to him, but he just looked confused. He started panicking, breathin’ real heavy and all. That’s when I called you.”_

_“Alright.”_

Fingers touched his face, gripping his jaw.

It caused pain. He didn’t know how to express it.

“Jim? His pain indicator just shot up.”

“Aye, he’s conscious?”

“Apparently so.”

The fingers returned, pressing around the side of his cheekbones, until the pain finally caused Jim’s eyes to shot open on reflex, eliciting a gasp.

The man in red was here again, although albeit blurry, but was accompanied by a man in blue.

There was so many primary colours…

“There you are. Can’t hide from me forever, kid, but I know you do try,” the blue-shirted man offered a smile that looked strangely forced, and began digging into a white box that were placed between him and the red-shirted man.

He let out a low groan, not sure of how to communicate his confusion.

Was this man going to hurt him?

“Damn it, Scotty, you should’ve told me the extent of his injuries over the comm!” the man shouted to the poor red-shirt, “I’ve only got some god damn painkillers and a couple of scanners!”

Yeah, this man was definitely going to hurt him.

“Ach’t did nae want to cause alarm!”

Even the red-shirted man seemed afraid of him.

He felt like he needed to boot it and run, but his whole body felt weighed down. The feeling of exhaustion that he experienced minutes before returned with a vengeance, and he was damned if he wasn’t going to fight it.

“Hey. Hey, Jim? Stay with me kid, don’t pass out on me now,” the angry man suddenly dropped the contraption and had his hands around his face, his expression mottled with fear.

But none of that mattered anyway, because he was tired, and he didn’t want to fight anymore.

“Jim. No. No—Jim! Dammit! Jim!”

 

……..

 

“…..’aser shot to chest cavity…..”

“…’pproximately 34 feet drop from engineeri—….”

He was being moved around, Jim was sure of that. He felt as if someone was standing beside and constantly jostling him.

Jim rolled his head side-to-side, trying to strengthen his grip on consciousness.

“’eep still, Jim.”

He moaned at that, subconsciously aware of the fact he was beginning to understand words again.

The minute he dragged open his eyes, he felt his yellow shirt over him tug, the sound of it ripping.

The world had stopped flashing red, in fact it was now a prestige gleaming kind of white, the amount of harsh lighting in the room making him want to claw his eyes out.

He struggled.

“I said stay still, dammit!”

Jim tried to lean forward to see what the man was doing… and evidently, he was cutting his shirt in half.

“Whaaa’?” he groaned in confusion, watching a pair of scissors effortlessly slice the rest of his shirt in half.

There were drops of red all over it—quite a lot of drops, actually. He wondered if the man in the red shirt was merging into his body.

He watched for a while longer, trying to keep up with what they were doing, but their hands were moving too fast.

Where was he anyway?

Before he could ask, Jim felt a tickle rocket in seconds from his gut to his throat, and without a chance to stop himself he projectile vomited across the room.

He expected the scowling man above him to chastise him about it; he really wasn’t in the mood. He was tired and wanted to fall back to sleep.

But unless he was really _really_ confused, all the man’s face did was contort into an expression of concern, staring at the vomit over his chest.

“Still bleeding internally, damn it. Let’s get him into surgery.”

“Yes sir.”

Jim blinked, trying to process what they were saying as a swarm of people suddenly swamped beside him and started messing around with nearby machines, whatever they were, and then the ceiling started moving.

His previous suspicions that this man was evil became a reality, as seconds after the world started moving, a hand descended from above and smothered his face with a mask.

The man was trying to kidnap him.

An inhuman screech at the back of his throat, then he started kicking in desperation—or at least he thought he was.

As that didn’t seem to be working, he flitted his head back and forth trying to get the damn contraption off his face.

But it only increased the grip currently clawing around his jaw, strong fingers lifting his chin up and distantly telling him to ‘ _relax’_.

Relax? Who would relax when you’re being kidnapped?

“Jim, it’s just to help you breathe, calm down,” the blue scowling man ordered above him, lifting his head to strap the mask over his face.

But he was having none of it.

Instead of exclaiming a coherent reply, Jim screamed something garbled from his numb lips and continued fighting against his kidnapper.

Fighting; as in whipping his head from side-to-side.

“Get off me!” he finally managed to scream an intelligible string of words together.

But the grasp squeezing the mask to his jaw was unrelenting.

“Dammit Jim! Calm down!” he was suddenly wheeled into a very cold room, a breeze tickling his bare chest.

“Fuck _off!_ Stop touching me, you sadistic son-of-a-bitch!”

The man’s face contorted into an expression that looked as if he was just told his dog died. Eyebrows knitted together in concern but frowning in a way like he was about to start crying.

Still, the blue man sighed and shook his head, bringing out another ridiculous looking contraption, continuing to look ahead as the bed moved, “Jim, do you know where you are?”

Nearly shouting another curse but processing the man’s statement, Jim rapidly tried to take in the whereabouts of his location.

He had been moved, that was obvious by the ceiling moving and the room suddenly feeling chilly. The other people—humans by the looks of it, thank god, were stripping him of clothes from the torso down.

“No, and I don’t care—I don’t know why you think you can imprison me here in this shithole but let me tell you—”

 _“Imprison?_ Good god man, you’ve got a giant hole in your chest and I’m about to operate so that you _don’t_ die,” he gave a frustrated sigh, and was glancing off into the distance somewhere, “You’ve been in here once before; don’t’cha recognize it?”

The room stopped moving; his captors now had him in position.

“Recognise it? I don’t even know who the hell _you_ are!”

 

That struck a chord.

 

The man stared down at him dumbfounded.

“ **What did you just say?** ” the man stared in a way that Jim began to feel nervous.

_Great, the strange square contraption was back out again._

_Oh, it’s making beeping sounds now, nice._

“Right, get him on the table and start disinfecting the incision site.”

Jim heaved a breath, “I demand you tell me _where the hell I am_!”

Hands started latching onto his waist and legs, half-lifting half-dragging him onto what was a very cold surface. But admittedly it was more comfortable than the bed he was lying on, which felt like steel.

“Okay,” the man reappeared and bent over into his line of vision again, this time equipping a small torch, “Follow the light for me.”

“Fuck off.” Jim swore as the yellow light pierced into his eyeballs, squeezing them shut and determined not to let his captor have the satisfaction of melting his eyes.

Then he felt a weird pressure over his stomach along with a bristly feeling, as if someone was using a brush to paint his belly. It felt chilly—and god it smelled strong.

He was thrown back into his current problem when an eyelid was pulled back, making his eyes defenceless to the supernova currently exposed to his retinas.

“Follow the pen.”

Jim scowled, “No.”

“Follow the god damn pen, Jim.”

Grunting under his breath, he opened his other eye and glanced over to the contained supernova, lazily following the light as it moved. He was minutely aware of the art piece being drawn onto his stomach.

“Alright, you don’t know where you are?”

“No.” Jim shut his eyes with a sigh.

“And you don’t know who I am?”

“No.”

“Right. I think you’ve got a high-grade concussion, but I’ll map out the possibilities of brain damage.”

Jim shot open his eyes again, _brain damage?_

“What? Brain damage?”

“You fell from a pretty high place, Jim, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Jim wanted to shrug, but found he couldn’t.

 

Come to think of it, he couldn’t really move any of his limbs at all.

 

The man towering over him seemed to have noticed his worry, “You okay?” and brought that damn contraption out again, hovering it over his face.

Man, how he wanted to slap it away.

“Yea, just too tired to move my arms, it’s annoying me—can you turn that damn…thing off?” he glared daggers at the bleeping contraption, glancing over to the blue man who’s look of world-disaster had returned upon his features again.

Jim saw the man reached down for a second, picking up a disembodied arm and showing it to him. Creep.

“Can you feel this?”

_Wait, that’s mine?_

He craned his neck to the side to see that yes indeed, his arm was actually being moved.

God, he must be really out of it.

“No, it just looks like you’re carrying a disembodied arm.”

The man mumbled something under his breath and dropped his arm, picking up something from a metal tray behind him, “I assure you, it’s still yours.”

“Won’t be for long, by the looks of it,” Jim muttered roughly, watching as the man began poking his hand lightly with a sharp object and subsequently frowning, “Is that why I’m here? You’re gonna cut off my limbs? Make me numb and then sever everything?”

The other man looked rightfully horrified at the accusation.

“Good god, Jim! What kind of shit have you been reading to make you think in your right mind I’m trying to make a collection of body parts!” his eyeballs were nearly bulging out of their sockets, “If you’re even still _in_ your right mind, that is.”

Jim huffed, and nearly jumped out of his skin at another voice suddenly sounding from across the table.

“We’re ready, doctor.”

The man glanced up.

“Alright. It looks like there’s some paralysis too. Let’s get a scan of his spinal cord before we start.”

Then the man mysteriously disappeared from his line of sight and left him with that bombshell.

_Paralysis._

_Is he just trying to scare me…?_

_I god damn hope so._

 

Jim’s conclusion that the man was trying to scare him was confirmed when huge unit was suddenly clamped onto the end of the bed, hiding his feet and legs up to his hips in the thing.

“What the hell is _that_?” he glared at it suspiciously, deciding it probably did nothing but serve as a reminder that he was trapped here with this lunatic.

“Portable scanner,” the man said more jubilantly than Jim expected, “It’s gonna slowly move across your stomach up to your head. Do _not_ move. I will stand here and do this all day if I have to.”

Jim grimaced at the man’s threat. That enclosed cube thing made him feel claustrophobic.

As soon as the machine began humming and threateningly slowly making its way up Jim’s legs, he decided to distract himself.

“So, I know you, huh?”

_Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep._

“BP just tanked, doctor, I think his heart is beginning to struggle.” A female voice said out of Jim’s line of sight.

“Yeah. And you’ll remember real soon as we can’t wait much longer. Not having ya die on me, kid,” the man stepped back over to Jim’s side, now having a hygienic mask pulled under his chin.

_Here’s hoping this is all just to scare me._

He didn’t know how much longer he wanted to play along when the mask strapped over his own face was quickly switched out to another one, the blue man hovering it over his mouth and nose. This one smelt funny, kind of like whatever it was they had painted onto his belly.

“I can hold it” Jim offered, not liking the feeling of someone having control over what entered his body. He felt so vulnerable, but didn’t want to admit it to this lunatic.

“No, you can’t. Firstly, you can’t even move your arm and secondly, you’ll drop the damn thing when you pass out and next thing you know everyone in the room collapses from exposure to anaesthesia.”

Jim did his best to frown his disagreement out, but suddenly started feeling really light-headed and floaty. His expression quickly melted into a softened stance.

“There ya go. Breathe this in, real slow now.”

Jim grunted under his breath, aware of the feeling of detaching from existence.

The man looked very worried, staring down at him in a caring way that gave Jim a warm feeling in his stomach. But it was weird, because he was _sure_ the man had just kidnapped him.

“Can you really not remember me, Jim?” the man whispered, Jim struggling to bundle the words together with the medication flowing through his system.

Jim paused, but slowly shook his head with great effort, causing the man looming over him to sigh gently and twist his face into something even more heart-breaking.

Who _was_ he?

Jim watched the man above him, lips and arms moving in a demanding fashion, but no sound coming out.

He felt as if he were drifting away, the beeping from monitors becoming quieter and more echoed, the room darkening as a veil drooped over his eyes.

The last thing he saw was the weird man pulling up his mask over his nose before Jim allowed his eyes to close.

Finally, in a state of absolute relaxation, Jim let out a quiet sigh and allowed himself to fall under.

 

 

**_TBC..._ **

* * *

 

 

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	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk wakes up post-surgery, Spock decided to mind-meld with him, McCoy is pissed.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

Incessant beeping was the first thing Kirk woke up to.

He didn’t know why it was there, but it _was_ there, and he was quite content to spend the rest of his life listening to it.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

A warm pressure against his forehead. Like the back of a hand checking for a temperature.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

“Elevated temperature, but that’s normal.”

_Beep._

_Beep._

_Beep._

“Jim? I know you’re awake.”

A male voice.

_Beep._

_Beep._

Kirk didn’t want to bring the rest of his consciousness back to reality. Or rather, he struggled for the motivation to.

“Urghh…”

_Beep._

_Beep._

Now the sound was getting on his nerves.

“Jus’ wiggle your toes and I’ll turn off that noise.”

Huh. How did the man know?

“T’n off th’ noi’sss….” Jim slurred, trying to determine what ‘wiggle your toes’ meant.

He was brought to a memory of the nursery rhyme about piggies and toes.

_Beep._

“Yeah, after you move your toes!”

Jim groaned again; what did a nursery rhyme have to do with this?

“Jus’ turn off th’ fkin’ sound!”

“He is getting distressed, just do it, McCoy,” said a different monotone male voice.

_Beep._

_Beep._

_…_

The noise stopped.

Jim couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped his lips.

 

“You’re a pain in my ass, kid, you know that?”

Jim grunted. That guy wasn’t going to get a word out of him anytime soon.

“I’ve silenced the monitor, now do what I asked.”

If Jim had the energy to sigh again, he would. It took too much effort—inhaling deeply through your nose reaching a certain point of maximum threshold in your lungs and then releasing it through your mouth.

Wow, the thought of it was exhausting.

 

Oh yes, the man wanted something to do with piggies. How did it go again? It had been such a long time…

“Dis’ lil’ pig-gy wen’ to th’ market…” was all he remembered.

 

A long moment of silence…

 

“The hell are you talkin’ about? I said wiggle your toes, not express a nursery rhyme from over ten years ago.”

Yes, it was a nursery rhyme. And he just sung the nursery rhyme. What did he do wrong?

“Buh…s’piggy…n’ wen’ to…shop…”

There was a heavy sigh, before he felt fingers slip between his.

“Squeeze my hand.”

After Jim’s awfully sluggish brain processed the meaning of ‘squeeze’ with the word ‘hand’ in the same sentence, he tried to close his fingers around those that had just slipped around his, but it was a huge struggle.

His fingers shook, it required energy he didn’t have.

Jim let his hand go slack against the man’s, feeling the other’s fingers fall into his.

“Can’t…”

The fingers returned around his, squeezing them tightly as if to portray an example of how it’s done.

“Sure, you can. Just try it.”

Jim moaned at the back of his throat and tried to turn his head.

“Tired…”

“I know, but I need you to do what I say and then I’ll let you sleep.”

He felt his knuckles grow warm as the palm of the other man’s hand wrapped around his, infolding softly both for reassurance and example.

“Do ya at least feel it?”

Jim inhaled, reading himself to reply.

“Uh-huh…” he exhaled.

“Good, now squeeze my hand.”

Jim decided it was for his better nature to obey whatever this man was asking of him.  
He fell into a state of deep concentration, really struggling to pull his fingers around those of the man.

But he did.

“That’s it. You did great.”

Jim licked his lips; they felt so cracked and cry, it hurt to do anything other than lay expressionless.

“Move your toes.”

Jim opened his eyes at that without realising, the luminescence of the room flooding his eyes.

He blinked rapidly, shutting them again, straining to move his legs with the urge to shuffle in discomfort.

“Dunno how…to move toes…” Jim paused, his eyes sliding shut again, “…piggies…”

A gentle sigh, one that sounded like frustration being held back.

“It’s alright, Jim. I see you’re able to move your legs now.”

Jim opened his eyes again, realising the light was a little dimmer this time. The man had obviously been kind enough to make it darker.

As his eyes finally began to focus, Jim noticed something weird with his vision. It was almost like something was in the way, but he could still see through it.

How did that make sense?

He lifted his arm to his face, attempting to discover what it was that was obstructing his view.

His hand collided with something, although strangely, he could still see below it. He tried to move his fingers, but something was stopping it.

So, he scratched his fingernails against whatever it was, deciding to figure out as much information as he could about it.

Before he could flop his hand back over it again, his wrist was suddenly grasped and pulled away by rough fingers, feeling it drop against his chest.

Jim glanced up to the man, who was staring down at him frowning.

“W’sat?” he referred to the secret obstructive object on his face.

“It’s an oxygen mask, Jim,” the man sighed, rubbing his face in his hands, “Just keep it on and don’t touch it, alright?”

Jim’s head rolled to the side as he lost interest in that conversation, “’Kay…”

His desire to find out more about the surreptitious object on his face had ran out anyway.

“How’re you feelin’?”

Jim swayed his head back to the man. The question confused him.

How _does_ one feel? How _are_ you feeling?

“Pain, Jim. Are you in pain?”

Jim blinked. How does one feel pain? He supposed doctors knew all about that.

Perhaps this man was a doctor. Did he know about pain?

“Wha’s pain?” he garbled, tongue sluggish as it tried to catch up to his brain.

The man beside him stopped standing and lowered himself to a seated position on Jim’s level.

“It means you hurt. Are you hurting?”

Jim took a second to gather his inventory together. He didn’t _feel_ any pain, he was rather quite content, lying in this bed, asking stupid questions…

“No…no pain…”

“Uh-huh. That’s weird, so the monitors ain’t lyin’ then.” The man stood back up and glanced over Jim’s shoulder, presumably to the monitors he was just talking about, “You got a ridiculously high pain tolerance Jim. Though…that actually explains why you keep getting yourself into this shit.”

Jim blinked, but reached out for the man, his arm trying to search for him, to feel the man’s creased white cloth on his fingers.

“I know you?” he asked, a feeling in his stomach welling, as if something was wrong.

Anxiety, that was it. But what for?

The man seemed to share his concern, a deep scowl etched across his face, but caught Jim flailing hand into his.

“Yeah, Jim. You seem amnesic but there’s no brain damage— a concussion? Yeah, a bad one,” his fingers brushed over Jim’s, rubbing circles into the palm of his hand softly. “Should get ya memory back soon.”

Jim enjoyed the feeling. He couldn’t feel feelings in his fingers a few hours ago.

“There was spinal damage, we had to do a thoracicoceptomy and fix your spinal cord.”

Jim blinked.

“Big word…” he mumbled, having absolutely no clue what it meant.

“Yeah,” the man repeated, “In simple terms, your fall damaged the thoracic spine and hit your spinal cord.”

Jim had no idea what he was going on about, but smiled lazily, “Cool.”

Obviously, that was not the right answer, going by the man’s stare.

“Cool? Damn it man, you could have been paralysed!”

Jim scoffed, beginning to shuffle around again in an attempt to sooth the itch on his back.

This bed was so uncomfortable!

“Does your back itch? You need to stop moving.”

Jim shook his head, “No…jus’ sore,” he lied, wanting to ram his fingernails into his spine.

“Uh-huh. Here, roll onto your side—” hands grasped at Jim’s waist and practically pulled him over before his mind could finish deciphering the doctor’s sentence.

“Aaauhhh—” he croaked, suddenly having the urge to vomit at the floor he was now glaring at.

The man pats him gently on the shoulder, “Jus’ gonna look at the incision site, won’t be a sec,” and disappeared from his right.

The pale floor was probably about the same shade as his pallor right now and was very desirable to throw up on.

From behind him, Jim heard another voice stemming from another man he didn’t even know was there.

“Doctor, I request to be alone with the Captain at the earliest convenience.”

Jim heard the scowling man scoff in reply.

“One, he ain’t the Captain no more, Spock, and two, he won’t remember ya.”

Jim blinked. Who _is_ this _Captain_? Were they on a pirate ship?

“Exactly what I endeavour to amend, doctor. I will attempt to restore his memories.”

“Uh-huh, with what, your mind magic? Mind voodoo? What’s it called again? Mind destruction?”

“Mind-meld, doctor,” the monotonous man sounded to be a little more frustrated now, “I will of course need his permission.” Jim flinched as the doctor’s fingers prodded a sensitive part of his back.

“Oh yeah, and you don’t need mine? His god damn doctor? The guy that just put his body back together no longer than a day ago?”

“Negative, you are not the host of the body, therefore I do not require your permission.”

“Host? You’re talkin’ as if there’s a damn parasite in him! I’d love to tell Jim just how you think of him you bloody green-blooded ingrate—”

“Can you _just_ shut up for two seconds!” Jim interrupted, his eyes squeezed shut with pain, “I don’t know who the hell you are, but your fingers are fucking causing me agony. So, stop.”

The fingers on his back went rigid, then were tentatively moved away with a sigh.

“Sorry, kid. I’ll up your analgesics. You heard what me and the hobgoblin said?”

Jim shrugged, allowing himself to be turned onto his back again by the doctor.

“Mind voodoo? Yeah, well—whoa, what the hell!” Jim’s eyes bulged as his brain finally processed the monotonous man standing beside him after being behind his back for so long; pointed ears and an expression so deadpan it’d make Frank jealous.

“My apologies, Captain,” the creature stepped forward, the pokerfaced look not wavering, “I was merely attempting to suggest a mind-meld which would possibility resurface your memories. However, I will only do so with your permission.”

Jim was about to open his mouth to give him permission, because _why the hell not?_ When the doctor suddenly interrupted him.

“Could be a waste of time, Jim,” he said loudly, “It’s a concussion, you should regain them in about a day.”

“Got something against this, doc?” it didn’t matter what the doctor said anyways.

He never trusted doctors, although given the choice between trusting a doctor and what looked like an _alien_ , Jim was beginning to think that he didn’t have much choice.

“Oh, I don’t know, Jim,” the man bit out sarcastically, “Could be somethin’ to do with Spock messing around in your head, reading memories you don’t want him to see, possibly causing irreparable damage—”

“Refrain from frightening the Captain, doctor. I will not read memories you do not wish for me to see, and irreparable damage is extremely unlikely as the link can be safely broken by either one of us at any time.”

Jim blinked slowly in disbelief at this new information. This new _choice._

But to hell with it, he was apparently someone more than ‘the kid that survived Tarsus IV’ and ‘Frank’s little bitch’, or even ‘the son of the great George Kirk’, so perhaps it wasn’t all bad.

“Okay,” Jim said a little too quickly and hoped it didn’t raise suspicion, “Let’s do it, when do we start?”

But his cunning plan was halted by none other than the scowling southern.

“Now hold on just a moment, Jim,” the doctor snapped, stepping in front of Kirk’s bed, glaring up at Spock in a warning gaze that clearly read _don’t even think about it._

“I want to do it, doctor…? Look, you haven’t even given me your name—”

“—McCoy. Bones. Call me whatever you damn well feel like, but I’m telling you, this mind-melding shit is bad news, Jim.”

Jim sighed, wasn’t this supposed to be _his_ choice? Yet he was being swayed out of it by some wacky doctor named _Bones._

“It’s _my_ choice, Doctor McCoy, just let him do it,” Jim didn’t miss the alien’s shoulders dropping in silent relief.

McCoy’s face went through a series of various expressions before finally he conceded to Jim’s relentless nagging.

“Alright,” he dropped himself down onto a chair beside Jim, “You can do it. But if he so much as wakes up with a missing eyelash, Spock, I’m going to give you the most drawn out, unnecessary hypo-filled, _painful_ , embarrassing, _tormenting_ physical—”

“I get the idea, doctor,” the alien stated with more force than Jim thought was necessary, “He will not be harmed. Now, please leave the room.”

 _Obviously, there’s some unsolved tension between these two,_ Jim thought to himself.

Watching the medbay doors swish shut after a string of soft curses, Jim glanced over to the alien a little uneasily. He hadn’t really given much thought to the idea that this argumentative pointy eared fella was going to be snooping around in his head.

“So, uh…” Jim started awkwardly, “When do you wanna start?”

Pointy craned his neck slightly in thought, “I believe we should begin in all due haste, however I do not desire to rush you.”

Jim would have laughed but had a feeling the creature wouldn’t catch on.

“Uh-huh. Okay, just…do it now, whatever it is,”

_Just get on with it._

“Very well,” the alien leaned forward and strangely, began placing tentative fingers around Jim’s face.

He frowned, having absolutely no clue what he was supposed to be doing. Was it some kind of joke?

The alien muttered something under his breath the Jim couldn’t even pick up.

He strained to listen harder.

Nope, must be in another language. What the hell?

Then all of a sudden, he was thrust into oblivion.

All at once—there was an overwhelming feeling thrust upon him.

Feelings.

Emotions.

 _Memories_.

It was like a constant screaming in his head.

And then nothing.

 

 

 

 

……

 

 

 

“…am unsure, doctor, this does not usually happen…”

 

 

“…’course it doesn’t usually happen! It’s a damn mind-meld you green blooded son of a….”

 

Bones?

 

“I initiated contact and he simply lost consciousness. There does not appear to be any other side effects.”

 

A scoff.

 

“Yeah, you don’t know that.”

 

…..

Fire.

There’s a fire in engineering.

Or at least he thought there was. It felt as if some time had passed.

Huh.

What the hell was going on?

 

“I can attempt to re-establish contact—”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare!”

 

Lieutenant.

Lieutenant Farlow.

He was angry about something. What about?

 

“If you’ve damaged him in any way, I’ll be putting your arse on report!”

 

Was that the Lieutenant? That guy seemed pretty angry about something.

 

“You cannot do that, doctor, only the Captain, or the acting Captain in this case, can put a crew member on report.”

“Captain my ass, I can still write up a report on your file, or at least Jim’s.”

"Putting a crew member on report under a rank that does not allow it, is an abuse of medical code 406, and can lead to a dishonourable discharge if not a reprimand."

"The only damn reason I'm still in this death-can in space is because of Jim, so if I have to get thrown out to protect his backside then so be it! Some of us care about him, Spock."

 

Apparently, it was a doctor.

So, why was the Lieutenant angry?

He remembered being thrown up against the rails of a balcony…a furious yet distraught face in front of him, yelling words that he couldn’t remember.

 

“I suggest you retrieve doctor M’Benga, as he has more experience in the Vulcan mind-meld than you.”

“Are you telling me you’ve melded with him too?”

“No, he simply knows more about my species, therefore could provide better insight to the problem with the Captain.”

“He’s unconscious Spock, even my five-year-old could figure that out.”

 

There was a long pause, likely the two men were giving each other looks.

“Fine. I’ll get him, but I want you gone by the time I get back. Don’t you have a ship to run?”

 

Ship.

 

“You too should cease, as you would say, hanging around him, doctor. M’Benga would need to be alone with him.”

 

The ship is in danger.  
_“Prove to me that you can sacrifice yourself for your crew, and we’ll forget all of this ever happened.”_

 

“Like hell I’m gonna leave anyone alone with him. Don’t even touch him while I’m gone. In fact, don’t even look at him.”

 

Jim heard a door hiss shut. Then the sound of footsteps drawing closer.

 

_“I’ll join an alliance with the Klingons. Tell them everything I know about Starfleet. I’ll tell Starfleet it was you who caused this.”_

…

…

Jim’s eyes shot open, his body straining to sit up, and god did it _hurt._

He needed to warn them.

“Klingons” Jim spat out to the wide-eyed Vulcan in front of him. “Spock,” he realised, then quickly started panicking again, “Klingons!”

His mind couldn’t seem to form any other coherent sentence.

Spock stepped closer, a frown that he was obviously failing to hide.

“Captain?” he reached over his shoulder and pressed something on the wall that set off a low-buzzing alarm, the blue lights that were luminating across his bed tinting to red.

“Are you well?”

“Klingons,” Jim struggled to sit up, he needed to move, needed to get to the bridge, needed to tell Starfleet, “The Lieutenant!”

The Vulcan paused in front of him, an eyebrow shooting up simultaneously as another alarm, louder, began to sound.

“Lieutenant Farlow is in the brig,” Spock confirmed, “He cannot cause further harm to you.”

Jim shook his head rapidly, _he didn’t understand, he had to make him understand._

“Lieutenant! Klingons—he—bad, Spock, bad!”

He cursed himself for speaking like a three-year-old, why couldn’t he string a normal sentence together?

 _The Lieutenant is going to work for the Klingons,_ he wanted to say, _he’s going to tell them Starfleet’s secrets, and its all my fault._

But he couldn’t shout anything more than;

“Klingons! Lieutenant! Starfleet! Bad!”

The double doors swoosh apart, welcoming two doctors, one of them was Bones, barging into the room and practically pushing past every other doctor in the room that was in his way.

“Move.” He urged to Spock, giving Jim a once-over and staring up at his vitals.

“He appears to be delusional,” Spock offered, watching Jim with a concern that he rarely allowed to be present on his usually stoic face.

Jim shook his head again; he wasn’t delusional!

“Glad to see you’re awake, Jim,” he heard the doctor mumble under his breath.

“Bones!” Jim shrieked, sitting up and ignoring the burning agony soaring through his spine, “Lieutenant helps Klingons!”

_Well, that’s a little more helpful than shouting names._

A large hand pressed against his chest, effectively pinning him to the bed.

“Stay still, Jim.” Bones seemed to be ignoring Jim’s warnings, and was staring up at an overhead monitor instead.

Why? Couldn’t he see it was urgent? The whole of Starfleet could be in danger and he just wanted to play doctor?

“Bones! Listen to me!” Jim shouted, clapping a hand around the doctor’s wrist and attempting to pry it off his chest, “We’re in danger! Starfleet’s in danger! That—Lieutenant—he’s going to tell them everything, Bones, he’s gonna—”

“I couldn’t care less if the universe was ending, right now you’re my priority. Stop moving around and stay still, then perhaps I can listen.”

Damn that god damn doctor!

 _“BONES!”_ Jim screamed in desperation, “I need to _leave!”_

“Doctor, get me a sedative,” he called to M’Benga, the other doctor in the room with him, who immediately strode over to a cabinet.

Jim started, “No—no sedative, Bones, listen to me,” he glanced over to the Vulcan who was just staring at him, “Spock, tell him to listen to me!”

But he too was unyielding.

“Captain, you are recovering from a concussion. I do believe this is a side-effect from this, and perhaps that of a mind-meld.”

_It’s not! It’s not a fucking side effect, just fucking listen to me!_

“Sedative, doctor,” the hypo was slapped into McCoy’s hand.

Jim started kicking his newly-fixed legs;

 _“Why won’t you fucking listen to me!”_ he kept one hand wrapped around McCoy’s wrist planted on his chest, still trying and failing to pry it away—and the other was swatting at the hypo that the doctor wielded in his other hand.

“You need to calm down, Jim,” Bones tried.

“No, I don’t need to calm down, you need to _listen to me!”_

With the hypo inches away from his neck, and Jim staring up at McCoy pleadingly—finally the doctor yielded, sighing and placing the hypo on a tray.

“Okay, Jim, was is it? What’s so god damn important?”

Jim swallowed hard, starting to feel the effects of his near-panic attack,

“I told you, the Lieutenant…he’s gonna tell the Klingons everything we know about Starfleet. It could cause a war, I need to warn them—I can’t just sit here, Bones, I need…” he took a breath, closing his eyes and trying to get his breath back, “It’s my fault and I need to make it right.”

Both McCoy and Spock were staring at him incredulously by the time he had finished his outburst.

“Uh…huh,” Bones stated slowly, “Well, you can tell me all about it when you wake up,” he picked up the hypo he had placed down seconds earlier.

Clearly, he still thought he was delusional.

“Bones! God damn it listen to me!” Kirk nearly screamed, “I’m not making this shit up! He told me I let his family die on some…some cargo ship or…I can’t remember, but he said I had to…it doesn’t matter, but he said—”

His perplexing sentence was interrupted by a delicate hypo sting to the neck, which, by some astonishing marvel, didn’t hurt as much as he was used to.

“Yeah yeah, and I bet the Klingons were also his dad and the fire was created by the Lieutenant because he’s an alien with magical powers, huh?”

Jim, to the best of his ability, scowled at the doctor through tired eyes.

God, he hated how fast his sedatives worked.

_I told you._

_Sacrifice yourself._

 

“No…I’m not joking…” Jim slurred, struggling to keep his eyelids open, “He…he pushed me…”

Jim watched as all three men staring down at him grew wide-eyed before he completely lost consciousness.

_Sacrifice yourself._

 

_..._

_TBC..._

_..._

* * *

 

 **Did you enjoy this piece of textual work? Do you desire it's continuation? It is only logical therefore to leave a kudos or comment.**  (please)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title of the story comes into play in this chapter....

_“No…I’m not joking…” Jim slurred, struggling to keep his eyelids open, “He…he pushed me…”_

_Jim watched as all three men staring down at him grew wide-eyed before he completely lost consciousness._

* * *

 

_Four hours later._

Kirk sat up from his biobed, eying the doctor walking back and forth the room as if he was an interesting zoo exposition.

“I just don’t get it, Jim,” the man had repeated for the fourth time that minute, “Why the hell did he try to kill ya? I mean…you said something about the Klingons, you tellin’ me that wasn’t some damned delusional dream?”

 _Damn right it wasn’t,_ Jim muttered to himself, fiddling with the thin flimsy excuse of a blanket over his legs. He had been trying to warn them since he first woke up.

Granted he didn’t remember who anyone was at that point, but he did remember what the Lieutenant had said to him.

“He had me up against the wall, Bones,” Kirk whispered quietly, scrunching the blanket into his fist, “Said I was to blame for…his family’s death.”

McCoy scoffed at that, “And what death might that be? Unless his family happens to be a generation of Klingons, we ain’t been shooting at no-one. And I’d damn well hope not.”

Jim shook his head, “He didn’t say. But they were on a vacation, sent out a distress call and I got there too late. Klingons destroyed them.”

The doctor strode by his side, wrenching the blanket from Jim’s hands as if he’d been watching him get more violent with it by the second, “You’re telling me that the Klingons are the ones that shot his family down…yet he wants to help them if you don’t…what was it?” McCoy blinked, “Yeah, what is it he wants you to do?”

_Sacrifice myself._

“Don’t know,” Jim lied, grabbing the blanket back to fiddle with it again using his nervous fingers, “Didn’t tell me.”

McCoy snorted, “Let me guess; earth’s defences? Free trip to a deserted planet? Hell, free captaincy position altogether?” he sat on a chair beside Jim, glaring at his fingers that were relentlessly twisting and pulling at the blanket.

_No, he wants me to die, or he’ll kill my crew. Including you._

_I don’t want you to die._

“Probably, I was pretty out of it.” There was no way McCoy was going to find out. Bones would throw himself under the bus to save Jim. But that was _his_ job.

“I ought to do a psychological evaluation on him,” Bones proposed, suddenly standing from the chair and marching over to his PADD, “Perhaps the trauma has caused a mental illness.”

Jim sat forward, not daring to move a limb away from the bed, his arm still sore from yesterday’s attempt to flee, “He’s dangerous, Bones, he could attack you.”

There was a long string of silence, and for a second Kirk thought Bones didn’t hear him.

Finally, he said, “I’m trained for this kinda thing, Jim. You don’t think I get patients like this all the damn time?”

Jim’s eyes met low with his fingers, “Not ones that want to kill you.”

 

He scrunched tighter.

 

There was a sigh, before he heard the tell-tale signs of footsteps drawing closer, a large hand suddenly clamping on his shoulder.

“You want a therapist?”

Jim gawped up at him in shock.

“What?”

McCoy frowned, “Do you want a therapist?”

_The hell is he talking about? I don’t need a fucking shrink._

“No? What the hell, Bones?”

The doctor’s eyes softened, “You’ve been taking your stress out on that blanket for over an hour. I know someone attempting to kill you can be traumatic, Jim. If you need to talk, I can get you a—”

“I don’t need a fucking shrink!” Jim bellowed out his inner thoughts, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. Then he let go of the material, letting the crumpled sheets sag onto his legs, “I’ll find a drinking buddy or something.”

_Sacrifice yourself._

“Jim, what the hell are you going to do every time something like this happens? If you keep it bottled up like this, someone’s gonna get hurt, and I can bet it’s you.” McCoy’s tone was condescending, yet his face had etched of sympathy—worry on it. Jim hated it.

The same two words repeated itself over and over again in his head, like the constant pounding of a pulsing headache, the buzz of a fly, a noise that would not settle.

“I just…”

_Sacrifice yourself._

“I’ll find a way, Bones…”

_Sacrifice yourself._

Jim sagged into the biobed, reaching a hand to his face and clawing at the skin, moaning in sheer irritancy.

He almost unnoticed the large warm fingers that gently pried Jim’s hand away from his face, the sound of a muffled voice that his now hazy brain couldn’t quite piece together—it was questioning him, or at least that was what the tone implied.

He listened to himself breathe, trying to push aside those two words that would not budge.

_Sacrifice yourself._

“Jim? You alright kiddo?” Ah, the voice was suddenly back again, and—oh. What was this? There was a buzzing in his ear. Was it Bones’ devices again? No, those produced a certain type of noise, this wasn’t it.

Tinnitus.

“Jim?”

Jim blinked, the buzzing noise soaking away, like water rinsing down a drain pipe, becoming quieter and quieter as it washed further down the drain.

A new buzzing began—this time, from Bones’ machine.

Jim watched as a hand suddenly hovered inches away from his face, an unconscious desire building to smack it out of the way because _damn_ if it wasn’t invading his personal space, he just wanted to _hit_ it and _punch_ it and the low whine was so _annoying_ and—

“Looks like a hyperactive hypothalamus. What ya thinkin’ there, Jim?”

_A hyperactive what now?_

“Nothing” Jim muttered, tightening his fingers into a fist as the two words continued to repeat.

_Why is this happening to me._

“Like hell you’re not,” Bones barked, “Hmm…your adrenal glands are producing a massive amount of cortisol.”

Jim stared at him.

McCoy sighed, “Stress, Jim. You’re stressed. As in, fight-or-flight responses are kicking in right now. Why?”

How the hell was he supposed to know?

Or perhaps it’s that voice, that told him again, and again and again and again,

“Sacrifice yourself.”

… _Oops._

Bones looked up from his beeping device, staring intently at him.

“What?” Jim asks innocently, kicking himself internally for speaking the words that were sure to send Bones’ doctor instincts through the roof. If anything, _he_ was the one with the fight-or-flight responses about to kick in any minute—

“What the hell, Jim?”

…Now.

He needed a distraction, and fast.

“I’m cold…” he whined pathetically, as if that outweighed the fact he’d just basically told his best friend to kill himself. Accidentally.

Bones scoffed, “You’re…? My god, Jim! Do you have any idea what you’ve just—” he paused and darted his eyes around the room in disbelief, slamming the handheld device on a nearby tray that thankfully didn’t shatter the glass cup that was sitting next to it.

“Can I get another blanket?”

Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea. The sheets were so damn thin if you looked really closely you could probably see his legs.

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Then the man scowled, sending Jim wriggling back away from the scorned creature, “ _Right_ after you tell me why you just told me to, what was it? _Sacrifice_ myself? What the fuck, Jim?”

There was no way McCoy was going to let this drop.

“M’sorry, Bones…”

“Sorry?” Jim’s sentenced barely ended before McCoy had almost interrupted him in disbelief. “I just wanted to know what was going on in that damn head of yours. That was totally uncalled for, Jim.”

“I just hate being in here…” well, that wasn’t a lie either. He would rather be sitting in the brig.

“Oh, I’m real sorry about that, Jim,” McCoy spat sardonically, “Would it help ya if I sacrificed myself?”

Jim closed his eyes.

“Stop.”

“Oh, oh I’ll stop alright,” the look on McCoy’s face forced Jim to swallow hard. Damn, he looked scary.

“Bones—”

“No, it’s alright Jim,” McCoy glared daggers into him for another second before spinning on his heel and marching to the back of the room, “I’ll get M’Benga to take a look at ya, while I go ahead and sacrifice myself.”

“Bones, stop, I don’t know what I was saying—”

McCoy marched back with a bigger sheet than what was currently draped over Jim’s legs.

“And here’s your damned blanket,” he threw it over him, not making eye contact as he strode on behind him and left the room.

Jim watched as the slightly-thicker-than-normal sheet brushed over his legs, clumping together to offer whatever warmth was possible for how cold Jim felt right now.

 

 

 

Kirk didn’t stop thinking about what he said.

His best friend probably thought he wanted him to die.

When in all truthfulness…it was Jim who wanted himself to die.   
Or at the very least, those thoughts had begun to grow on him over the past few hours.

McCoy hadn’t come back to visit him since, neither as a doctor or a friend.

Those two words demanding something so horrific of him was becoming more desirable by the minute.

_Sacrifice yourself._

He pulled the sheets up closer to his chest, like a child who heard a bump in the middle of the night.

But he wasn’t scared of the dark; he was scared of the thoughts in his head.

He wanted to do it, but at the same time, he didn’t. Did that even make sense?

Every cell in his body told him to do it—save everyone on the ship, save the whole of Starfleet; hell, even saving just _Bones_ was worth it. But his self-preservation in his mind told him not to.

 

Oh, who was he kidding.

 

Why would he allow the deaths of millions of people, watch his crew— his family die around him—because he was too pathetic to sacrifice himself for them.

It wasn’t much to ask. Not at this cost.

At least, that was what he convinced himself.

Jim turned his heavy head to the side, as if trying to move a sack of bricks. His eyes scanned around the room, searching for something—anything that he could use to harm himself.

Harm himself.

That was a thought he had never intentionally tried thinking. Regardless of what Bones commonly thought of him.

_Bones…_

He fucked it up.

_Do it for him._

_Sacrifice yourself._

 

His eyes locked onto the far end of the room; a large luminescent cabinet that literally _screamed ‘_ open me’.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind for what could be in there—he knew what it was—it was full of drugs. He’d seen Bones use it before, along with all the other doctors.

Needed clearance to get there though. Surely his Captain rank would be enough to get him in?

Or was he stripped of that rank when he fell?

 _Oh well,_ he told himself, whipping the blanket up into his arms for protection of the cold, _only one way to find out._

* * *

 

 

He was still authorised as Captain, it turned out. The medicinal cabinet let him access the supplies, and briefly Jim wondered why he didn’t think of doing this earlier.

If there were no supplies, there was nothing for Bones to hypo him with.

All the medications seemed to have been classified into different drawers. His eyes drifted across the signs.

_Antipyretics_

_Analgesics_

_Antibiotics_

_Stimulants_

_Tranquilisers_

The list went on. There were at least 10 drawers full of the stuff.

Briefly glancing behind him for any personnel in his room, he swiftly entered the access code and watched the first drawer of antipyretics automatically break open, a soft humming noise sounding loud to Jim’s ears compared to the contrast of the silence in the room.

Hundreds of different vials were revealed—and this was just the first drawer. How many was he supposed to take?

Frowning, he peered closer to inspect how big they were; he could probably tuck them all inside the blanket he brought with him.

His legs felt cold without any proper clothing on, only the dignity that a gown could provide, which wasn’t much. His feet were freezing from kneeling on the cold marble floor, the hairs on his skin standing on end.

Deciding the use of the blanket that would have made him feel warmer was worth it, Jim began picking out random vials; experimenting with them a bit by tipping them to make sure nothing fell out, then tucking them into his blanket.

After a quarter of the vials were gone, he typed in the access code with shaky fingertips to open the analgesics drawer.

Again, the drawer revealed itself with yet another hundred or so vials, and Jim picked them out again; faster this time, and tucked them hastily into his blanket along with the other stolen vials.

The more obsessive he became over the drugs, the quieter the voice in his head became. The two words repeating itself in his head became drowned out by the sound of soft clanking when he thrust the unidentified vials inside his stash.

Antibiotics were next.

 

* * *

 

 

Kirk had no idea what he’d just done, but he had a feeling he was going to regret it. There were at least a hundred and seventy missing vials from the cabinet drawers, and now he was all tucked back into bed, empty vials hidden under the biobed and his mouth tasting horrific. He had poured them all in there, one by one.

His next checkup was soon, and he praised whatever deity was out there that gave him M’Benga as his doctor and not Bones.

Bones was obsessive over Jim’s health, like a mother hen. All doctors wanted their patients to get better, but Bones…Bones was ridiculous.

At least doctors like Chapel or M’Benga would only give the necessary procedures and not start vaccinating him for something that could only be caught twelve galaxies away.

Maybe with M’Benga, he could get away with a simple exam and refuse the needs for any meds.

If he opened that cabinet…

“Jim!”

Kirk’s head shot up at the southern drawl—it wasn’t M’Benga—oh no—it was Bones.

_Oh shit._

“Bones!” Jim shouted a little too fervently than he wanted, “What’s up?”

The doctor wasn’t even looking at him. For a second, Jim thought he was still pissed off at him and refused to make eye contact, until he realised he was staring at the overhead monitor.

_Oh fuck._

_Oh no._

_Oh god._

“M’Benga is dealing with Spock, so…you’ve got me,” Bones mumbled, clearly infatuated with the feedback from the monitor he was glaring at.

“Is he okay?” Jim asked innocently, “Spock, I mean.”

Bones broke contact with the monitor and started bringing out equipment that was probably made specifically to torture him.

“Yeah, he got himself injured on an away mission, is all. I gotta say, I’m surprised, I thought without you there everything would go smoothly.”

Jim sat up. Was Spock okay, or wasn’t he?

“Is he badly hurt?”

McCoy scoffed, hovering another white device over his abdomen and slamming Jim back onto the bed, with a forceful hand “No, he’s fine. Got a cut on his head but that’s all.”

Jim frowned, rubbing his head that roughly hit the pillows. That’s it?

“A cut on his head? Bones, he’s an important asset to the bridge, you can’t take him off duty for something as minor as a bruise.”

Jim felt his heart beginning to race as Bones’ frown at the tricorder readings grew deeper.

“Can’t I?” he didn’t even finish the rest of his sentence before picking up another device and hovering it over Jim with his other hand, until both hands were occupied with annoying, beeping devices.

“Sorry about earlier, Bones,” Jim tried to distract him, hoping it would draw him away from the readings that was likely the result of a suicidal overdose that had yet to take effect on his body.

“It’s fine, Jim. Have you eaten anything?”

Jim resisted the urge to mouth the word _fuck_ as Bones’ observations grew closer to the truth.

“No,” Jim lied, “I haven’t eaten anything at all today,” Well, technically that _wasn’t_ a lie.

“Uh-huh,” Bones gave both monitors one more glance before setting them down on a tray, “You’re severely malnourished and dehydrated. Which is weird, the tricorder didn’t show that earlier…”

Jim’s mind brought his attention over to Spock. What was he doing that got him hurt?

“Bones, what’s the mission right now?”

McCoy gave him a brief glance before turning his attention back to an IV pole he was hanging up.

“You know I can’t let you in on that. It’ll stress you out, and you’re already extremely tense.”

Jim scowled. So, it was something really serious?

“I need to know. It’ll make me even more stressed if I don’t know what it is that would make me stressed.”

The doctor sighed, returning to Jim with an angry scowl upon his face.

“And then you’ll get stressed knowing what the mission entails.”

Jim sat up again, “So it _is_ something serious!”

McCoy strode the rest of the way over and shoved Jim heavily back down on the biobed. “Sit up again once more and I’ll make sure you can’t even move a finger.”

Jim blinked, but nodded hastily. “I just want to know what it is, Bones. Tell me, _please_.”

Bones sighed, taking a seat next to Jim and whipping out his PADD.

“I don’t know all the details, Spock’s the acting Captain right now. There’s something going on with a mining colony and we’re _trying,_ god help us, to establish relations with them,” then he chuckled to himself darkly, “He’s terrible at negotiating, Jim, we need you back.”

Jim folded his arms together, freezing when he felt something tug. Glancing up, he realised there was something sticking into his arm. He looked up in alarm.

Bones put a hand over his wrist, “Relax, it’s an IV, I put it in just now.”

Jim glanced back over to the intrusive object in the back of his hand and followed the tubing all the way up to the IV drip on a pole.

“I didn’t even feel it.” Jim mumbled, surprised considering he _always_ felt it.

Bones’ face dropped, “I know, which is why I’m concerned. Not eating doesn’t make you numb, Jim.”

At that moment, the beeping of the wall-com resonated across the room.

_Saved by the bell._

Grumbling something under his breath, Bones stood up, patting Jim lightly on the shoulder and reaching to the wall com.

“McCoy here.”

Jim listened intently. Perhaps the call would prove useful to the information that’s being hidden from him.

“Uhura here. We’ve just received a communication from the mining colony Druzed, they’re willing to have a conference at 1300 hours today.”

McCoy scoffed, “Yeah? That’s an hour away. Why the hell you tellin’ _me_ for?”

Jim internally cringed at the way McCoy spoke to his officers. Damn it, he had to tell him to relax around them, they’re not even his patients.

“Uh…well, we were hoping you’d be able to tell Spock, considering he’s with you right now.”

There were a few beats of silence, obviously McCoy had completely forgot Spock was here, regardless of mentioning him ten seconds ago.

“I’ll tell him, Lieutenant. Anything else you need?”

Uhura perked up again, “No sir, just make sure he’s down here in an hour.”

McCoy was about to end the transmission before the communications officer piped in again, “Oh, sir! They’re requesting Captain Kirk’s presence down there too!”

Jim held himself back from jumping for joy while watching McCoy nearly have an aneurism in shock.

“ _What?_ You want Jim down there? He’s still a patient, it’s gonna be at least a day ‘til he’s gonna be released, his bio-readings have shot down significantly which indicates an inf—”

“He will attend the conference, Lieutenant.” A monotone voice voiced in.

Jim’s head darted to the wall-com again, noticing Spock’s face now appearing on the screen.

_Yes. I love that damn Vulcan._

“Spock? What the hell are you—? Get off the channel! You little shit!” the communication was abruptly ended as McCoy darted off out of his private room and into main sickbay.

That was too close.

 

* * *

 

 

In the conference room however, in front of all his senior staff and potential ‘federation friends’, Jim was beginning to wish _too close_ came true.

He was sitting at the opposite side of the table from Bones, who was staring at him constantly and paying no attention whatsoever to the goings on around him.

Thankfully, Spock had picked up his role as acting Captain and was leading the whole conversation, as Jim could hardly keep his eyes open.

His head was swimming, a vertigo so bad that he felt his body sway slightly, the room zooming in and out like a malfunctioning camera.

“In return for a cargo ship from the Federation to deliver you dilithium crystals, we will require more than 2% of your overall shipment.”

 _Good on you, Spock,_ Kirk was thinking distantly. If they thought the Federation were gonna get three pennies for a pound, then they were in for a surprise.

His vision swam.

His eyes darted around the room at objects he thought were moving, but were not. Everything was swimming.

He strained to listen closer to the voices. But all he could hear was buzzing, his ears ringing relentlessly.

His body began to feel like wet clay.

He was sinking, his limbs suddenly sliding down the chair with his neck slouched back, his mouth agape, unable to control his body.

The meeting room disappeared and all that he saw of the world was half the side of underneath a table, the rest of the world blurred out.

_“Jim!”_

His head lolled back against the chair motionless. He was too exhausted to try to move it.

“ _Get me some help in here!”_

 

Suddenly, hands were at his arms, hauling his body up and he hated it because it _hurt, stop moving me,_ but then the chair was yanked away and thought he was going to fall—but no, someone had caught him and was laying him down.

Now his limp body was staring up at the ceiling, a bustle of faces around the corners, one of them creeping over the rest of his vision for more attention, dressed in whites—Bones.

“Jim? Jim can you hear me? Shit!”

He could hear him, but he didn’t want to reply. Not only didn’t he want to reply, but his body was too slack and wilted to be able to do it.

“Jim. Talk to me.” His face looked desperate and almost scared, a vast difference to the anger that were always upon his face in sickbay just hours ago.

Jim tried, but all his weakened body could allow was an ungraceful croaked moan.

After another soft muttered curse, Bones pulled out his tricorder that—of course—he always had in his pocket.

This time Jim couldn’t even gather the limited energy he had to care that the device was being hovered too close to his face.

There was another curse.

“This can’t be damn well possible,” he hissed, recalibrating it and trying again.

But _yes,_ Jim thought, _it is possible, I’m trying to sacrifice myself, let me do it…_

“Spock, get medical down here stat, and you, tall guy,” he pointed at one of the delegates behind him, “Get me that medkit, big white box behind you on the wall.”

The creature thankfully was obedient, regardless of the annoyance of Spock the inexorable arguer, and quickly spun around to grab the medkit while Spock ‘ran in the Vulcan way’ to the wall comm.

McCoy turned his attention back to Jim.

“Jim, you still with me?”

Another moan.

“Alright, have you taken anything?”

Jim remained quiet at that. If Bones knew, he’d be able to treat him, and if he was treated he wouldn’t have died, and if he didn’t die then...Starfleet was doomed and so was his family.

“Jim. I need to know, dammit, have you taken anything? Any drugs?”

Jim continued to stare absentmindedly into those terrified hazel eyes.

“Jim, dammit, this thing only tells me so much. What. Did. You. Take?”

The creature suddenly returned with the medkit, McCoy grabbing it and beginning to open it before it even hit the ground.

“Medical is on their way,” Spock offered, staring down at Jim in a way that he was sure the Vulcan had let his impassive mask slip. Was there some emotion in there?

He wasn’t able to look for long though, as his vision began to swim again, and Spock’s face became too distorted to focus on.

Seconds later, he felt something cold with the zingy taste of metal slip past his lips and move to the back of his throat.

Fuck, he couldn’t breathe.

_Fuck._

He jolted his head up and tried to get the device off of him.

His body flooded with adrenaline, as he struggled to survive against the creature that was suffocating him.

_Fuck._

“Jim! Jim. Just relax, I just need to—calm down, it’s alright…shit…”

 _Get off me,_ he wanted to say to the creature that was trying to kill him—but he wanted to die, didn’t he? Would it count as dying if someone else killed him? But he had already made the sacrifice, would he die because someone else had killed him after his sacrifice and then he would be helpless to save everyone who would be killed after?

_Oh god._

_Oh no._

_Oh god nononononono…_

“Jim. It’s alright, it’s alright, Jim. It’s alright…hey, kid…my god…” a hand on his forehead, and Jim wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be comforting him or pinning him to the ground.

“It’s alright. Just a little longer. It’s—oh jesus Christ don’t ya start cryin’ on me now, kid, come on…”

He couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what to feel. What the hell was going on? He was so confused.

Blinking away some tears, Jim’s vision slightly cleared enough to see Bones staring attentively at another device that was beeping fast and crazy.

He watched as McCoy suddenly looked up for a second, nodding to some unknown presence that had entered the room, then returned his attention back to Jim.

“It’s a drug overdose, Chris, a massive one. I think it’s an attempted suicide, this ain’t no accident.” Jim watched as the nurse knelt by him, “I’m getting readings of ridiculous amounts of antipyretics and analgesics, not to mention stimulants and tranqs.”

_Nononononono—_

Jim was aware of his hoarse breathing coming out in strange gravely noises past the device in his throat. He stared up wide-eyed at McCoy, trying to get his attention.

But soon it became a second too long, and he started fidgeting again, shaking his head against the two medical beings that kept him still.

_Letmegoletmegoletmegoletmego—_

“Jus’ stay still Jim, you’re alright. Just another couple of seconds, I promise ya.” Bones had his fingers around Jim’s jaw, making the blonde feel like the device was being manhandled down his throat.

He shook his head desperately, trying to summon any possible strength left in his body to move—to escape.

Both voices of Bones and Chapel chimed in trying to offer their reassurances before he finally summoned the energy to start kicking them.

He swiped at the device in his mouth, sticking out like a thermometer, getting frustrated as Bones kept grabbing his wrist and pulling it away.

“Few more seconds…okay, kid…there we go…almos’ done…”

_You’ve been saying almost done for the past five minutes! Fuck off!_

“There you go…there you—alright he’s done,” the device was promptly removed from his throat, and instantly Jim jerked forward and vomited over himself.

Both doctors refused to look at him in disgust and simply offered their reassurances, Chapel running fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

“There’s a lot of shit in him, Christine,” he heard Bones mumble, watching as he passed it onto the nurse, “This should have registered everything he swallowed.”

Jim knew it was bad when he felt Chapel’s fingers around his arms tense up slightly when receiving the readings—but hell, he knew it was bad anyway.

There were over a hundred vials he had swallowed.

“What do you want to do?” he heard Chapel say softer than usual; worried, perhaps. “Activated charcoal?”

Jim swallowed against the bitter taste of the vomit lingering in his mouth.

He felt so weak.

Tired…

McCoy pressed two fingers against Jim’s neck, nearly startling him.

“Yeah, let’s do that. Get him on the hoverbed and I’ll com down to the medbay,” Jim watched idly as Bones’ fingers left his neck and stood up from the floor, stepping back over to the wall com to inform his staff.

“You’ve done something really stupid, haven’t you?” he heard Chapel say under her breath as if it was a rhetorical question, “You did this to yourself, right? You’ve been in the medbay for the past three days. Why did you do it?”

Jim blinked his heavy eyelids at her and then decided the millisecond rest felt excellent, so he shut his eyes altogether.

“Oh no you don’t,” he felt someone gently shaking his shoulder and tapping his face, “Stay awake, Jim, or my boss is gonna be pissed.”

Jim’s eyelids drifted open at that, a smirk forming on his face.

“Christine…he’s the…CMO…I’m your boss…”

Jim felt the life in him drain into nothingness in a mere three seconds, and so his heart followed.

* * *

 

**TBC…**

* * *

 

 

 **Did you enjoy this piece of textual work? Do you desire it's continuation? It is only logical therefore to leave a kudos or comment.** (please)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Jim's overdose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this took so long. I don't like to write just for the hell of it, I've gotta be in the right frame of mind or the content is crap. So hopefully this is alright.
> 
> Make way for the Jim angst :D

_“You’ve done something really stupid, haven’t you?” he heard Chapel say under her breath as if it was a rhetorical question, “You did this to yourself, right? You’ve been in the medbay for the past three days. Why did you do it?”_

_Jim felt the life in him drain into nothingness in a mere three seconds._

 

“Get the hell out of the way!” McCoy bellowed at some crew members unfortunate enough to stand in his path, wishing he could move the bed along faster, if only it wasn’t for the swarm of people around him.

He couldn’t stop his eyes from constantly focusing on the form laying on the hoverbed below him, half-trembling, half-moaning, as if to try to keep himself awake.

McCoy had to remind himself not to start shaking too; he was a doctor, damn it, now wasn’t the time to show everyone weakness.

 _He’ll be fine,_ he tried to convince himself. _He’s been through worse._

Watching his best friend shaking and crying on the bed made him feel sick to his stomach.

Jim never cried, especially not in public. He’d obviously been drugged to the extremes, pushed to the verge of suicide.

How did he not notice something was wrong? What kind of _friend_ was he, never mind his _doctor?_

As they rocketed through the corridor—or as best as they could with the crowds—McCoy was sure he was going to throw up when Jim’s moaning turned into thrashing, and dear _god_ he did not want to use a sedative with all the crap in his system.

So, he freed one hand from the hoverbed rails and rubbed it over Jim’s shoulder as they ran.

“Jim? Jim, it’s gonna be alright, kid,” he soothed, “I’m gonna fix it, you hear?”

It was obvious that Jim would not be able to _hear_ anything, never mind understand in his drug-induced state. But if his silence was anything to go by, clearly McCoy’s voice was a comfort in the kid’s haze.

He continued to talk to him.

His voice shook a little, “You’re a real dumbass, you know?” he mumbled mockingly, swinging the bed around into the entrance to sickbay and immediately heading for OR to figure out what to do with him.

A small voice from below him made him wonder if he was imagining it for a second;

“Bones?”

Ramming the bed into the operating room, he noticed Jim’s figure more prominently now. His face was ashen, eyes bloodshot and tired, and he was sure the light caught some drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. This threw up red flags all over McCoy’s mind—was it likely one of the kid’s trembling fits was a seizure?

It couldn’t have been, or the alarms would have gone off…wouldn’t it?

“ _Damn it,”_ he grumbled in frustration, “ _Damn it all._ Get him on the table. Nurse, get me fifty ccs of activated charcoal, let’s see if he can have it orally first,” he quickly stepped aside to wait for the other doctors to put Jim on the table, before grabbing a wheelable stool and sliding up next to him.

He watched Chapel march away to find the medication in the corner of his eye, before focusing on Jim’s shivering form.

His eyes were glazed over and staring at the ceiling, but at least he seemed to be somewhat awake.

“Jim, do you know where you are?” he tried, knowing it was very unlikely.

The sound of his voice brought Jim’s head flopping to the side to face him, his tired eyes trying to focus on him, but eventually settling for gazing into the distance.

Chapel appeared behind Jim at that moment, dropping the contents of vials on a tray and reaching for Jim’s head.

McCoy jumped up and strode towards her, “No, hold on, let me,” he muttered, knowing full well Jim was probably going to lash out at this.

“Jim?” he tried to get his attention, holding his head between his large hands, “I need to give you something to drink, and you have to swallow it, alright?”

As expected, Jim took a few moments to process it, made a quiet disapproving noise and shook his head.

“Was not a request Jim, we’re doing this now.” He grabbed the vial from the tray and flicked the top open, tipping Jim’s head back and pressing the vial to his lips with another. “It’s gonna taste like shit, but just co-operate with me for once.”

In the corner of his eye, he saw the kid beginning to squirm, a knot forming in his stomach as Chapel gently held him down.

“There ya go, tastes like crap, huh…yeah…bet it’s worse than that Saurian Brandy you keep trying to make me drink, that stuffs horrid…alright…” he continued to talk to him in the calm way he would speak to his daughter, and clearly it was working as the struggling lessened.

When the vial was empty, he put the glass aside and quickly returned to find his tricorder, taking one from the instrument tray and hovering it over Jim’s body.

“Bones…” the kid’s voice croaked, sounding like it had been cleaned with sandpaper.   
Bones look up from the readings, offering a smile the best he could.

“You’re gonna be alright, kid, jus’ trust me.”

He knew he just told a lie when his eyes ran back over the readings, realising the toxin numbers were dipping up to high levels again.

_Shit._

_The hell do I do now?_

“Uh…nurse?” he awkwardly stepped beside her with haste and shoved the tricorder in her hands. Perhaps she had an idea to stop Jim from his untimely doom.

She took the tricorder from him, her face remaining expressionless as she came to the same realisation McCoy did.

“It’s not working, doctor?” she muttered under her breath, glancing up to meet the doctor’s eyeline.

He shook his head in dismay, “The poisoning is too extreme, detox isn’t going to cut it in time.”

Chapel bit her lip for a second, before glancing over to Jim’s vitals, which were beginning to drop.

“We can try gastric lavage,” she suggested, to McCoy’s horror, “It’s an old earth technique, but it should save his life.”

_Jim would go ape shit if we did that._

“Can’t you think of anything else?” any other technique the doctor could think of wouldn’t have an effect considering the extreme amount of toxins Jim had ingested.

And they needed to do something _now._

“We could put another 20 ccs of charcoal in him, but I don’t think it’ll do any good.”

McCoy took a deep breath and quickly gestured for her to follow him, then seated himself on the stool behind Jim’s head.

_This is going to be hell on earth._

“Jim?” he questioned carefully, “You with me, kid?”

There was a pitiful moan, before McCoy noticed the kid’s hands trembling again.

_Good, at least he’s not in shock._

_Yet._

“Get me a lavage kit and ewald tube.”

“Yes doctor.”

Jim’s eyes opened again, searching the ceiling for something, only lord knows what.

“Bones?”

He sighed. “Still here, kid.”

“Wha’s…wha’s happenin’?”

His stomach churned.

“We’re trying to get all the shit you drank out your system.”

Jim’s heart rate shot up.

As did Bones’ left eyebrow.

“You…you can’t…”

“Why not?”

“Need…I did…” Jim’s eyes fell shut again, his head lulling to the side.

“Damn it, kid,” he leaned forward and grabbed both sides of his head, “Why _not?”_

Scared blue eyes opened to meet his. “I…need to…ah…sacrif…sacrifice…”

_What._

“The hell are you talking about? Jim?”

Chapel dropped the supplies on a tray and was already ripping the kit open.

“Can’t…” Jim’s eyelids fluttered shut again.

“We need to do this now, doctor,” Chapel warned, holding out the tube and small cylinder container.

McCoy grumbled under his breath, mostly at the situation Jim had put them all in. He took the cylinder from Chapel.

“Jim, we’re gonna uh…”

_How does he explain such an invasive technique to a terrified patient while they’re awake?_

_God damn old age medicine._

“…We’re gonna empty your stomach to get rid of all the bad stuff. Got it?”

Jim opened his peepers again, confusion present in them, before shaking his head.

He sighed, “Wasn’t a question. Okay…” he silently and as quickly as possible slid the container between Jim’s lips, which earned the kid’s eyes to shot open startled.

Rapidly, he whipped the tube out of his nurse’s hands and slid it through the container and down Jim’s throat, causing a mass of reactions in the kid that he knew he’d have to ignore.

“S…s-t-top—” Jim choked through the intrusion in his throat, his eyes watering instantly as he began to kick again.

“We need to do this, Jim, I’m sorry,” Bones mumbled, feeding the tube through and trying to control his rapidly increasing breathing; a sure tell sign that he was well on his way to start crying.

Jim tried to shake him away regardless, his limp hands suddenly regaining strength in an attempt to pull the doctor’s hands away from him.

“Stop…stop…please…”

McCoy swallowed hard, “I’m so sorry, Jim, I’m so sorry. Once this is over you’ll be fine, I promise,” he encouraged, only talking in hopes that he would stop hearing Jim’s horrific choked cries for help.

Just as soon as McCoy thought Jim was starting to calm down, the kid started gagging, wrenching himself forward and shoving his hand away from him.

“Jim…Jim you need to calm down…damn it,” he took a deep breath to compose himself, “You need to swallow the tube, Jim, alright? I know, I know it’s damn scary, god damn it, but you need to work with me here…this is the only way,”

But Jim refused, his whimpering turning into hoarse screams for help, as if there were anyone else in the room that would pull the horrible doctor away and save him.

The screaming grew louder and more distorted the longer the seconds ticked on.

“I know…I know…god, Jim, I know…darlin’ I know, I know…” he almost forgot Chapel was standing behind him with the rest of the kit.

But _fuck_.

He didn’t care. Jim was terrified and so god help him if he wasn’t to use every endearing term possible to help calm him down.

Which wasn’t helping.

“Stoooop…Stooop!!!” Jim coughed the tube up again, squirming and wriggling his way up the bed until the back of his head was pressed into McCoy’s chest.

“I can’t stop this, darlin’,” the doctor’s eyes were beginning to water, “I _have_ to do this, and you need to co-operate. Just swallow the tube and let me do my job, then I’ll take it out and bring you to your quarters and let you do whatever the hell you want. But right now, I need you to _swallow the tube_.”

Jim let out an unhuman screech and began thrashing so hard that the tube was being pulled out of his throat again. Chapel quickly made her way around the table to hold him down, but his strength was unmatched, his bucking and kicking nearly sending Chapel’s fist to her own face.

Jim’s screaming continued. “STOP!”

As McCoy’s pressed a hand onto Jim’s forehead to keep his head down, Jim writhed so hard that his foot kicked Chapel in the knee and sent her falling backwards and crashing into the tray.

McCoy momentarily darted his eyes towards her to assess for injury, which proved to be a bad idea as Jim took his chance and wrenched the tube out of his mouth, shakily throwing it aside and trying to climb off the table.

Bones gripped his arms and pulled him back on the table.

“Jim. Stop. Nurse, are you alright?”

Jim struggled.

“Yeah, hold on.”

McCoy glared at him, but instantly felt bad as those terrified blue eyes were filled to the brim with tears, his breathing so out of control he was sure the kid was hyperventilating.

“Calm down, darlin’…”

“No.” Jim tried to kick towards Chapel as she got to her feet again, only for the nurse to grab them and pin the limbs to the bed the first chance she got.

“We can’t sedate him?” Chapel asked, clearly struggling with the thrashing.

McCoy had both his hands pinning Jim’s arms to the bed and was leaning so far forward he just about had his forearm pinning his head to the bed too.

“No, I don’t even want to think about giving him another drug.”

Jim writhed so hard that his body was just throwing itself in the air and landing with a bang back on the table.

“No more…please…” he begged, his head whipping from side to side.

Then, the nurse piped up.

“Doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“While we’re using old-age techniques, why not put him on nitrous?”

McCoy blinked.

_Of course._

_The gas should keep him calm while not interacting with the drugs in his stomach._

“Get me the nasal mask and the portable tank.”

“Yes doctor.”

He turned his attention back to the writhing man on the table, who now had free reign to kick his legs around again now that Chapel was elsewhere.

“Jim.”

“I don’t want it.”

“I know, but we’re gonna give ya some medicine to help ya stay calm. That alright?”

Jim’s kicking reverted to squirming, as if considering the prospect.

“Hurts?”

He smiled, “No, it’s just gas, it’ll make ya feel all high and giddy.”

Jim seemed to relax a bit at that, his half-vacant eyes glued to the ceiling, while the rest of his body trembled, unknown to McCoy whether it was due to fear or to the drugs. Perhaps a bit of both.

McCoy ran a hand through Jim’s hair, knowing as soon as Chapel resurfaced next to him, he’d kick off again. But for now, he was quiet and compliant.

He continued to run his fingers through sweat-soaked hair, lightly scratching his scalp with the tips of his nails, the kid’s head uncomfortably pressed against his ribs. The other arm was protectively wrapped around Jim’s torso, both for his own comfort and to stop the kid from moving.

Just as he expected, Chapel returned a moment later with the necessary supplies, and Jim started squirming again before his eyes had even laid upon her.

“No. Stop.” Jim whined.

Chapel gave an unsure look to McCoy and slowly stepped towards Jim, “Its alright, I’m just gonna pop this onto your nose…see?” she demonstrated it on herself, as if trying to comfort a child. Except Jim was a grownass man and for some reason was deathly terrified of any medical equipment that was within a mile of his vicinity.

“Bones” Jim glanced up to the doctor, “No” he croaked, as if that was going to work. It was either this, or they pin him to the table with security guards and force it down him while he screamed and writhed on the table for an hour.

No, he had to do this instead.

“You just like making my life difficult, don’tcha?” he mocked, gesturing for Chapel to pass the nasal mask while keeping one hand on Jim’s forehead. It seemed to be the only thing grounding him.

“No. No consent. Bones, please.”

Taking a breath, McCoy squeezed his eyes shut for a second and shook his head at Chapel.

_He’s gonna die if I don’t do this soon._

_He has perhaps…five minutes._

“Okay…” he breathed, giving the mask back to Chapel and deciding he would have to hold him like a five-year-old instead. He turned back to Jim, “Let’s get through this and we’ll go do whatever the hell you want.”

She got the message, and carefully pressed the nasal mask onto Jim’s nose, causing the struggle to ignite again.

“No” he mumbled, kicking around to get free.

“Nurse, turn the gas on, Jim, I need you to look at me.”

Chapel immediately wheeled away, while McCoy kept one hand on the mask and one on Jim’s hair. Jim pried his eyes away from Chapel and drifted back to McCoy, his body so tensed he was trembling.

“I don’t want it. Bones…Bones I can’t—I can’t—I can’t—I don’t want it…”

Bones knew exactly why Jim ‘didn’t want it’. It was a gut-wrenching story Jim had told him in confidence about Tarsus, how he was starved, then rescued by Starfleet. And because he was so god damn terrified after the whole ordeal, he refused any treatment. But he was just skin-and-bones, and he was a child, so they stuffed a feeding tube down him as the only alternative.

It wouldn’t surprise him if Jim was reliving the whole experience of it right now.

Jim finished mumbling to himself and caught McCoy’s eyes again,

“He’s gonna kill everyone Bones, m’ serious…”

Bones sighed. This again? Was this delirium or was he telling the truth?

Either way, Jim was his priority. He’d rather watch the world burn than lose him, so truth be damned.

“Well, if you’re real serious about this, we can do something about it. But you gotta let me do this, first,” he mumbled into Jim ear, still running a hand through the kid’s hair. He could tell Jim was still shaking from the slight tremors under his fingertips.

“It…hmm…too late by then…” Jim slurred, the medication beginning to pull him down.

“Uh…huh. This won’t take but a few minutes,” he reassured him, “In fact, we’d already been done by now if you weren’t so damn persistent on strugglin’.”

Jim was sure to be trying to come up with a reply, but all that left his lips was a sigh, the trembling settling down.

_Finally._

Tentatively, McCoy slowly removed his hand from Jim’s sweat-soaked forehead and watched for an adverse reaction.

Apparently, nothing.

“You good?” he asked hopefully, perhaps now they could actually _do_ the procedure without the kid throwing a tantrum.

Jim very sluggishly licked his chapped lips and nodded. “Uh-huh…” Seemingly he had completely forgot about the destruction of mankind as he knew it.

Finally, McCoy was able to get to work.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Jim was startled awake by a loud noise from behind him—a crash—a crash? Had the ship crashed? No, the ship doesn’t make that sound…

Where was he?

He wasn’t on the bridge.

Which means they crashed.

 

He shot up instantly, realising for a second that he had been lying down—sleeping? He can’t remember falling asleep yet here he was.

 

“Jim?”

 

Oh, it’s Bones. Bones would know why they crashed. Then he could save the ship.

Or not, because they already crashed.

“Good god, man!” the doctor yelled from behind, now stepping in front of him into his line of sight, “Lie back down, damn it! Your heart-rate is faster than the damn ship at warp 9!”

Jim blinked slowly, but shook his head and swung his legs over the side of the bed, “Why didn’t anyone tell me we were crashing, Bones? I could’ve saved—”

He paused.

He could’ve _saved everyone?_

“We didn’t crash, a nurse collided her tray with mine, that’s all.”

Memories instantly came flooding back.

That voice in his head telling him to sacrifice himself—and if he didn’t, Starfleet’s secrets were going to be spilled to the Klingon Empire.

And he was clearly still here—alive, well, and living.

“ _Bones_ ” Jim stammered, “Why the hell did you save me?” those words seemed extremely wrong leaving his mouth, but it was a question that needed answering none-the-less. He physically _tried_ to sacrifice himself by overdosing and this…this _moron_ just comes along and ruins it.

Clearly, McCoy wasn’t having it, either.

His eyes bulged, “The hell do you mean _why_ did I save you?” he yelled in disbelief, “Maybe ‘cause you overdosed on all the damn drugs in my medbay and seized in the middle of negotiations—well done by the way,” the doctor threw his hands up in exaggeration.

Jim paused—he had forgotten about that. Must have been the drugs.

“ _Yeah_ , that’s right, I watched you drop under the damn table—damn it Jim, did you _want_ to die? You were saying weird shit to me in the OR, too, but I thought it was the drugs,” then he stepped closer, causing a slightly nervous Jim to sit back on the bed and wriggle away.

He remembered being awake in the OR. Bones practically pinning him to the table. It’ll haunt him for weeks.

“You gassed me.”

“You were scared.”

Jim scoffed.

“I don’t get scared. Besides, I overdosed. So, if I panicked, it wasn’t _really_ me.”

“God, Jim. I spent an hour emptying your stomach and trying to keep you alive—you’re welcome by the way, and now you’re telling me you _wanted_ to overdose?”

Now that he thought about it, Jim realised that what he was telling the doctor was very un-captain-like.

“I need to get to the bridge” Jim murmured, avoiding eye contact with the man and sliding off the bed again. He had a planet to save, and he needed to contact Starfleet.

Yet, the unrelenting voice of his CMO continued to nag behind him.

“The hell you are. You’re gonna lay on that bed and tell me why the hell you tried to kill yourself before I relinquish your command completely.”

Jim’s knees nearly buckled at that.

“ _Bones_ ” was the only word he managed to croak, like a warning to just _shut up,_ not able to look away from the door, standing frozen to the spot. He couldn’t make eye-contact with the man behind him, he didn’t want to see the shock or disappointment on his face.

He nearly jumped when a pair of large hands suddenly grasped his arms and hauled him away back to the bed, but for some reason he found himself complying, regardless of the fact that he didn’t _not_ want to be here.

He needed to run.

But instead he was sat down on the biobed, glancing up McCoy who was glaring daggers into him, arms folded over his chest.

“Talk to me, Jim. Why did you do it?”

“I already told you,” he growled, “I needed to sacrifice myself to save Starfleet.”

McCoy frowned, “Yeah, that’s what you told me while you were drugged,” then the doctor narrowed his eyes, whipping out his tricorder and started hovering it over him again.

Jim sighed, “What the hell are you doing now? Bones, I need to—”

“Just shut up at let me do my job, for god sakes,” McCoy snapped, shoving the tricorder closer to his face for good measure. Bones seemed pretty pissed off at him. Jim couldn’t think why.

Both men sat in silence for a few awkward minutes, Bones hovering various instruments over Jim’s body while he sat there saying nothing, staring at his knees which seemed to be bouncing like a car engine.

“You know you’re not goin’ to be allowed back in command now, right?” McCoy broke the silence, still fixated on the tricorder and not attempting to lock eyes with Jim.

But the blonde remained silent, knowing his friend was right, but acknowledging it just made it seem true. He didn’t think about losing his command as a repercussion to his suicide attempt. He had assumed he would do it successfully, saving everyone in the process.

But everyone seemed alive and well, so now he was confused.

He glanced up hesitantly, “Bones?”

The doctor just grunted in response, obviously pissed off enough to not want to look him in the eye. “Yeah, kid?”

“We didn’t crash?”

“No, we’re all fine. Spock’s in command, we’re headed to a Starbase.”

“No-one died?”

“No-one died.”

 

A few beats of silence filled the air, the lone sound of the tricorder’s bleeping ringing in Jim’s ears.

 

“How’d you know?” he was still unbelieving of it.

A sigh.

“Because they would have been brought to me. No-one has been injured, and no-one has died. The only work I’ve had to do for the past three days is deal with your hopeless backside.”

Bones then put the tricorder away, not a scowl upon his face like Jim had originally assumed there’d be. Instead, his features were just laced with worry.

Jim watched as his friend sat on the bed beside him, pointing at his pillow and raising an eyebrow as if to say _lie the hell back down._

For once, Jim obliged, cushioning his head with a pillow and curling on his side.

 

He didn’t know what to do.

 

“How’s your throat?”

Jim tightened his crossed arms against his chest even tighter at that. Now that he thought about it, it was stinging a little. Not that he needed to know.

“Fine.”

Another grunt. Then shuffling as he watched a trolley in the corner of his eye wheel away from him.

Rustling.

“I stuck a tube down your throat for an hour while you tried to pull it out three times, it doesn’t hurt?”

Jim shut his eyes and remained silent. God, he just wanted to be left alone.

To think.

“C’mon, get yourself outta that ball and onto your back.”

Jim stayed _exactly_ where he was. He was quite comfortable on his side.

“Now, kid.”

Growling, Jim forcefully threw his body onto his back in protest and stared up at the ceiling darkly.

He didn’t have a second to appreciate how nicely patterned the ceiling was before Bones’ scowling face reappeared over him.

“Don’t look so gloomy, shouldn’t you feel better just by lookin’ at me?”

Jim tutted under his breath, “On the contrary. I want to be alone.”

McCoy scoffed, “Jim Kirk, I’m never leavin’ you on your own again,” he jested, disappearing for a second before reappearing with a tongue decompressor.

Jim sighed in frustration.

“Open your mouth.”

Rolling his eyes, Jim obeyed, subtly looking to the side to make sure no-one else was watching the vulnerable position he was in. Thankfully, it looked like the whole room was closed away from main medbay.

The stick was removed from his mouth.

“I’ll give ya some anti-inflammatories,” he heard Bones say, before slamming his mouth shut and turning onto his side again.

Jim clenched his fists, staring at a particular spot of the floor.

Frustrated.

He didn’t know what the hell was going on, what was real and what wasn’t.

His stomach rioted at the idea that all of Starfleet and his whole crew were going to be slaughtered if he didn’t sacrifice himself for them. And he tried to do it, he suffered because of it.

Yet here he was, absolutely fine, feeling nothing but a sore throat and perhaps a bit of fatigue.

And Bones had taken his command away for being compromised.

“You still think we crashed?” McCoy’s voice threw Jim from his thoughts, glancing over to him briefly before offering a shrug.

Jim scoffed. “You’re all alive, aren’t you?”

“So are you.”

He scowled, hoping that McCoy’s “miraculous treatment” didn’t mean the demise of the entire human race.

Jim shook his head, crawling his fisted fingers over to his pillow, tightening them into his grasp and clenching the sheets in frustration and anger.

 

“Who said you needed to hurt yourself?”

Jim released his clutch at that, surprised the doctor was actually trying to see his side of things for once.

“That Lieutenant that we locked up. Farlow.”

He watched McCoy nodding, jaw clenching as he tried to contain his building emotions.

“He’s the guy that threw you over the engineerin’ balcony, yeah?”

Jim shuffled onto his back again, his leg beginning to ache from the pressure.

“Yeah.”

 

Once again, the room fell silent, and Jim was sure that that was the end of McCoy’s curiosity at trying to understand him.

 

“I’ll book you for a psychological exam as soon as possible—”

Jim nearly vomited right there and then, “No—”

“—And if you pass it, I’ll give you your command back.” McCoy’s eyes narrowed in inquisitiveness, likely wondering what Jim was going to do in response to that.

Jim inhaled sharply, “And if I don’t?”

“Then we’ll find a way to get you through this ‘til you can.”

“But I won’t have my command?”

“No.”

“Ever again?”

“Not ‘til you pass the exam. It won’t be forever. But if you need proof you’re sick, then I’ll give you proof.”

“You got your freaking tricorder to prove I’m sick, and it didn’t say anything!”

“Jim. My tricorder can only detect physical problems, and yours is mental.”

“I’m not mentally ill!”

“I’m not sayin’ you are, but you’re not gonna accept that you need help ‘til you’ve got proof, huh?”

Jim gagged, unable to form a response anymore. Unable to fight.

He had tears in his eyes—damn it—his hands were shaking like crazy, and not even shoving them under the blankets could hide it.

Bones was scowling. “Jim—You were thrown off a balcony—likely sustained damage, probably caused paranoia, or even schizophrenia!” he nearly yelled, but then softened his tone “Do the exam, so that I can be sure and help you.”

God.

Why didn’t Bones believe him? They had all the proof they needed. And he was thrown off a balcony by the Lieutenant for crying out loud!

“Why do you always have to pin a frigging label on me, Bones?” Jim snapped, sitting up and shoving the hand away from his shoulder that was supposed to comfort, “You feel so insecure about yourself that you gotta diagnose me with _something,_ just to make yourself feel better? Huh?”

Bones’ face went through various emotions at that remark, before finally settling on a hurt expression that made Jim’s skin crawl.

“Hey there, now, Jim, I ain’t labelling ya, I’m just sayin’ what I think could be happenin’!”

_That’s obviously a lie to make him look good._

_I’m not falling for it._

“Then why isn’t your tricorder picking up any _physical_ damage to me? You a psychic?” his chest was heaving rapidly now, trying to hold back an impending panic attack.

_Why the hell am I so weak. Pull yourself together. C’mon._

Bones simply smiled. A confused smile. Unsure, perhaps. Nervous?

“This thing can’t pick up something as severe as internal damage, Jim, I’d need to do proper tests. Why don’t ya lie back down so I can get someone to see ya?”

Jim snorted, _as if he’s gonna let me see my crew._

“Oh, yeah? Who’s this ‘someone’?”

Bones’ expression didn’t change, “Science technician. To do your psych exam. Remember?”

Jim froze.

He didn’t want to be examined by a stranger.

Bones apparently read his mortified face, “Don’t worry, I’ll be with ya. Like I said, not lettin’ you go ‘round anymore on your own.”

 

Defeated, Jim sighed and threw his hands up resignation. “Fine, but if I want it to stop, it’ll stop.”

Of course, Bones looked as if he were about to protest, as usual, but seemed to stop himself and relish the win he had with getting Jim to even comply with the exam.

“Yeah,” His friend sighed, “If ya can’t deal, I’ll send you back to bed so fast your head’ll spin. And add a sedative to that too.”

Jim squirmed in his seat at the mention of that dreaded hypo, but at this point it was the best deal he was gonna get.

The thought of being alone in a room, his emotional health being tested, a strange man trying to freak Jim out to relieve him of command—he despised it. No, he was _terrified_ of it.

He took one of these exams at the Academy and Bones was called down in the middle of a shift because Jim had a meltdown in the psych exam. From then on, he couldn’t take a single psych exam without him.

Never again.

“Jim?”

He looked up quickly, realising he hadn’t replied,

“Uh…yeah, yeah that sounds fine” he forced a smile.

Bones didn’t look like he believed him, “Yeah, alright, well, good,” he snatched up his medkit, “I’ll bring one in now, get it done with, it’ll be real quick,” he promised, before stepping aside and skulking towards the doors.

Jim twitched and darted his head towards the door,

“Bones?”

_Please don’t have already left…_

“Yeah?”

_Thank god._

“Promise I won’t be in there on my own with that guy?”

“ _That guy_ is a member of your crew, Jim.”

“Bones…” his voice was shaking. Damn.

“Yeah, kid,” Bones sighed, “I promise. I’ll be with you the whole time, jus’ like in the Academy.”

 

Jim was relieved.

 

* * *

 

TBC....

 

* * *

 

 **Did you enjoy this piece of textual work? Do you desire it's continuation? It is only logical therefore to leave a kudos or comment.**  (please)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bones was supposed to be there.

_“Promise I won’t be in there on my own with that guy?”_

_“That guy is a member of your crew, Jim.”_

_“Bones…” his voice was shaking. Damn._

_“Yeah, kid,” Bones sighed, “I promise. I’ll be with you the whole time, jus’ like in the Academy.”_

_Jim was relieved._

* * *

 

 

“I’m not doing it until Doctor McCoy gets here.” Jim commanded, his voice lacking his usual authoritive captaincy tone.

Bones promised he would be here, he was _always_ here, and they were _not_ starting without him.

“Of course, sir, but I wouldn’t want McCoy to get frustrated if he came back and I hadn’t even started yet, Captain,” the blue-shirted man replied, clearly still a little apprehensive of disobeying Kirk due to seeing him as his captain.

Jim watched the man with uneasy tension as he lifted the bed upwards until Kirk looked as if he was standing…inside his bed.

He wasn’t ready.

“I demand you to wait until Bo—Doctor McCoy gets here!” he ordered with as much authority as he could muster.

“Sir, with all due respect, you’ve been relieved of your command and now are subject to my orders,” the obnoxious know-it-all retorted back, obviously getting annoyed with Kirk’s resistance now, “And I choose _not_ to be reprimanded by my boss.”

Jim swallowed past the golf ball in his throat, and scowled, “I assure you, _Lieutenant,”_ he spat with vigour, “He’s gonna be pissed if you started without him.”

_Man, just do what I say._

_I can’t do this without Bones._

_…Please._

“Oh jeez, it’s just a simple test, what’s he gonna do, fire me?” the Lieutenant stated sarcastically, striding to a tall light he had placed in the middle of the room and flicking the switch, “ _You_ can’t, considering you’ve gone crazy and all.”

Jim felt rage boiling under his skin, “I’m not crazy! This is just a test!” he nearly screeched, squeezing his eyes shut at the light flooding his eyes.

“What you doing here, then?” the man laughed, a low humming noise producing from the light allowing Jim to know the machine had turned on, “And you’re defeating the whole purpose of the test by closing your eyes.”

Jim shook his head against the uncomfortable excuse of a pillow, “I don’t want—not without McCoy…” he breathed, keeping his eyes secured shut for as long as that light was on for.

_Where the hell are you, Bones?_

“Some of us have things to do, sir, so if you could just open your eyes and get this over with, that’d be great.”

Jim tensed his fists at the patronizing command, since narrowing his already shut eyes would probably go unnoticed.

“I’m putting you on report when I get back command,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“For what, doing my job?”

Jim heard the men’s footsteps grow closer to him, before finally a smack on the shoulder jolted his eyes open, startling him into staring at the fluorescent light in front of him, terror-stricken.

“Good,” the man grumbled as Jim began to shake, “Now just relax and tell me how you feel as the colours change.”

If the softer tone to the man’s voice was intended to soothe him, then boy did he have some work to do. Even Bones could probably attempt a better lullaby than that.

It wasn’t the thought of his past being dragged up that he was afraid of, it was trying to deal with it alone without Bones.

Yet, as Jim let go of the rising anger building from the aftermath of the rude crewmember he was certainly going to fire, his mind began processing the strange light he was trapped staring at, bringing horrible things to the forefront of his mind that he didn’t want to think about.

First it was the incident a week ago—the confrontation with Lieutenant Farlow, being thrown off the engineering balcony…surgery…. paralysis…the voices in his head…but something pushed further, as if the light was sentient and prodding into his mind, pressing and reaching for information, as if it was Spock’s mind meld contained in a single light ray.

The one word that Jim had tried to forget began surfacing, calling out to him, ripping through mental barriers that he had spent years building up to avoid a mental breakdown just thinking about it.

Tarsus. _Tarsus._

He felt as if the light was growing stronger, growing stronger in intensity the more distressed he became, simultaneously worsening the faster his heart raced, the faster his mind went the faster his heart, and the light—the light felt as if it were penetrating his mind—snatching memories—using them against him—a sound—a high-pitched sound—distant but there, as if it were a warning—images—horrible images— _makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstopwhatisthatnoise—_

_“Whoa, the hell is going on?”_

Then all at once, it all stopped, his mind retreating back into itself as reality became noticeable once again; the high-pitched noise beginning to sound more like an alarm until it was obvious; the alarm was coming from the biobed he was upright on.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you, man?” Jim heard a familiar voice yell from somewhere in front of him. His brain still hadn’t completely grounded yet. But at least the light was off.

He still felt pretty fluttery though and—god, he was dizzy.

The man replied sheepishly, “I thought you’d want me to get on with it…” at least that bastard blue-shirt sounded remorseful.

“ _Get on with it?_ Dear god, man, he specifically told you not to start without me— _I_ told you not to start without me, and what do you do?” Bones threw his hands up in incensed anger, “You start without me. And look what you’ve gone and done. Look at him!”

_Look at who?_

“Consider yourself on report, Lieutenant, I’ll handle this myself. Now get out.”

Jim blinked, the other blue-shirted man he trusted coming into vision. Bones.

He was still pretty dizzy though, it was quite concerning.

“Jim?” his friend approached him, rotating the bed down flat again, “Gonna need ya to try n calm down now, alright?” come to think of it, he didn’t notice he was hyperventilating until he felt the slight burning in his chest and actually thought about it;

“I know that bastard went on without me, but he’s gonna be fucked, Jim, I’ll get him off the damn ship, so don’t you worry about him, okay? Just—just focus on my voice and try to calm down. M’ here now.”

Jim tried to slow down his thought processes, staring at Bones’ worried face hovering in front of him like an anchor.

“S’alright, nice n’ slow,” Bones murmured, trying to push through the chaotic haze in Jim’s mind.

Jim focused on Bones’ face that was riddled with repentant sympathy.

_It’s not your fault…_

“Will I…have to do it…’gain?” he asked, shutting his eyes as the adrenaline wore off.

“I think I’ve seen enough, Jim.”

Huh? But that sadistic Lieutenant had programmed the device to be ruthless on purpose…didn’t he?

“Don’t look so confused. I checked and it’s all on the normal settings. He ain’t out to getcha Jim, but I don’t think he understands what you’re dealing with,” then Bones snorted, “Well, he doesn’t know how shitty your past is, so that’s something to do with it.”

Jim latched onto Bones’ voice to help ground him, knowing his excessive talking, as usual, was a subtle aid to help keep him in reality. He had probably seen episodes like this before and knew what to do.

Ah, to hell with it, Bones was a doctor, he always knows what to do.

“Am I…” he trailed off and licked his lips hesitantly, knowing what the answer was gonna be.  
_Am I gonna lose command? Yeah you are, Jim, did you see yourself?_

He was right, of course, and Bones’ eyes were sad as he tried to explain himself.

“If you were in my shoes and you watched a Starfleet Captain have a meltdown right in front of you in the span of three seconds, what would you do?” Bones asked instead.

Jim shrugged, knowing full well his friend was trying to find another way of saying _you’re outta the job, kid._

And he didn’t care to hear anything else right now.

Bones must have read his face, because he said nothing.

“So, uh…can I get out of here now?” he asked timidly. There was no test to be done, and he wanted to get out of the place of his nightmares as soon as possible.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll keep ya hidden away in a private sector of medbay, no-one can ask questions that way.”

Jim sighed and listened to the wheels of his bed clanking as they were unlocked. “Thanks.”

He heard Bones grunt in return before the world started spinning again.

Moving so fast…

 

As Jim felt his bed being wheeled off down the corridors, he couldn’t help but feel absolutely no shame whatsoever. Which was weird, as usually he would be doing everything to remain hidden. As if he were invincible, despite the fact everyone knew he was probably the most frequent visitor to sickbay.

Yet, he was tired, and didn’t care.

“Not gonna complain and ask to go back to your quarters?”

 _Shit! —_ Jim almost jumped out of his skin.

“What—no…no I’m good…” he sighed the shock away and shut his eyes again.

Somehow, he could almost _feel_ Bones’ scowl drilling into him from the side.

“Exam was that bad, huh? You wanna talk about it?”

Jim grunted at first but realised the doctor would only settle for words.

“Mmm…not really…” he slurred out, feeling himself sinking into the mattress as if about to float.

 

A few more moments of blissful silence and then;

 

“You alright, Jim?”

 

_Ugh._

 

He grunted.

 

_Go away._

 

To make matters worse, Bones had decided it was time to punish him for screaming earlier and started hovering an annoying beeping contraption over his face while he was trying to sleep.

 

He had no energy to come up with a retort.

 

“Bones…”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“M’ fine…”

“Hm. No you’re not. Your vitals are goin’ way outta whack. You tired?”

Jim shrugged again. “Yeah…”

_Now let me sleep._

He felt thick fingers grab his wrist and press uncomfortably against skin. The fingers then dropped his wrist and moved to his neck.

It was blissfully cool against his heated skin, he didn’t even realise he was feeling hot, and they were removed too quickly.

Then both hands were cupping his face this time, a finger peeling back an eyelid and staring directly at him with the most serious expression Jim had ever seen.

He inhaled deeply,

“Y’look troubled,” Jim slurred weakly, trying to decipher what it was that Bones was so worried about.

Although, Bones worried about everything.

It took a while, and Jim was beginning to think his friend didn’t hear him, but eventually Bones stopped awkwardly staring intensely at Jim’s eyes and relented.

“Looks like jaundice. Don’t know how I hadn’t noticed it before…”

Jim grunted and rolled his eyes, “English, Bones, the universal translator can’t understand your weird medical jargon.”

Bones scoffed, “Ya’ve got yellow eyes.”

… _Huh?_

“So, I look like…like an animal? A cat? With yellow eyes?”

Bones gave him a judgemental scowl and shrugged. “Sure, Jim, you’re turning into an animal,” the doctor retorted, before Jim realised the bed was moving again.

He hadn’t even noticed it had stopped. Man, his mind was slow today…

“Where…” Jim swallowed against a strange feeling in his stomach, “Where we going?”

Jim watched McCoy’s placid expression, a professional mask void of all emotion—but he was slightly concerned for himself when his doctor was constantly checking the tricorder in his free hand.

Not to mention the sudden fatigue pulling him down, as if Bones had snuck a sneaky hypo into his neck when he wasn’t looking.

“I told you, to the medbay,” Bones replied without dropping eye contact with the tricorder.

He wearily looked up at him, struggling to keep his eyes open,

“B’nes…did y’drug me?” his mouth felt like a struggle to move.

The sinking feeling in his gut became more prominent when McCoy started speaking with barely-contained urgency into his communicator.

“…showing symptoms of cirrhosis…need to do an exam…medbay on standby…”

Jim forced out a nervous laugh at the fading voice, ignoring the shaking that was building up and couldn’t control.

Clearly Bones must be thinking Jim wasn’t aware enough to notice his reactions, as usually his expressions were professionally hidden.

Or it was just really bad.

_Bones always over-reacts._

_Christ, Jim, stop worrying._

_You’re a starship Captain, not an anxious 13-year-old._

Despite his best efforts, he was still shaking.

 

Jim subtly tried to cling onto his arms as if just holding himself will still his trembling muscles.

He groaned in frustration, which only elicited a gasp to come out instead, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut and curl himself into a ball, willing the shaking to stop.

Was it a seizure? Perhaps it was. Bones was being loud and had his doctor-voice on, which meant something bad was happening.

As the panic pooling in his stomach increased, his desire to bolt off the bed and run did too.

He slammed a sweating shaking hand on the handlebars, the metal slipping past his fingers and frustrating him even more, swiping and grabbing at the rails as if it were his lifeline, tasting the bitter beads of sweat running down his lips.

He flinched when a firm hand grasped his shoulder, another hand on his forehead; but he wanted to move away, struggling, pulling and jerking away from the warm touch but the hands remained in place.

“Jim.”

Jim remained silent, forcing himself not to look at the doctor trying to grab his attention.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Jim, it’s okay,”

Jim shook his head; it wasn’t okay, something was wrong with him, and Bones didn’t say what.

“Why the hell are you panicking? S’not like you, kid, c’mon, just relax.”

He swallowed repeatedly at the excess saliva that had decided to pool at the back of his throat, causing even more frustration.

Bones was right; why was he panicking? It made no sense.

For a split second he wondered if he should try to convince himself to calm down again, but he felt too far gone to try. He instead focused on one of the grey tiles in the distance.

“S’okay, Jim, s’alright...the hell’s the matter? You in pain?”

Again, Jim rapidly shook his head and started hitting the handlebars again, an unrelenting desire to escape.

_What the hell am I doing-what the hell am I doing-_

As he watched McCoy produce a hypo out the corner of his eye, his desperate fists to the rails turned into stronger beatings to the point where his wrist was burning from the contact.

_Need to go need to go need to go need to go—_

He was temporarily pulled out of his thoughts when he felt his shoulder being squeezed—not the pinch of a hypo like he was expecting.

He glanced up to Bones, still reeling and hyperventilating in pure panic, before watching the doctor take a deep sigh and began saying words in a soothing tone that he couldn’t understand.

McCoy’s eyes were sad as he tried to figure out what to say, “Just…gah, dammit Jim, won’t you tell me what the hell’s the matter? I’m a doctor, I can’t read minds.”

Jim glanced down at McCoy’s hand currently residing on his shoulder in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact, feeling himself sink down into the bed from exhaustion.

Still, his hands continued to tremble, and he made a futile attempt to hide it by sliding his hands under the blankets.

He looked around, trying to figure out where in the ship he was.

Everything looked the same; white walls, white ceiling, white floor, the corridors were just a long, narrow, never-ending void…

“You’re five minutes away from medbay,” Bones announced as if he could read Jim’s mind, “You think you can handle a ride down another corridor?” he asked almost mockingly, which somehow provided Jim with a needed comfort.

Jim shut his eyes and nodded tiredly, shakily gripping onto the railings and never letting go. “Yeah…”

 

* * *

 

By the time both men were finally rolling into medbay, Jim was shaking all over as the biobed wheeled into his private room, making strange noises that McCoy was more than concerned about.

“Y’know, when I said you were turning into an animal, I was joking,” he ridiculed, his taunting tone betrayed by the sheer worry plastered all over his face.

It was one thing trying to uphold the reputation of a grumpy sardonic doctor when your troubled expressions could be read like an open book. On a shelf. Screaming ‘read me’.

As hordes of staff began piling in, McCoy subtly shooed them out with a flick of his wrist, deciding the commotion would just set off Jim’s panicked state again.

“I’m fine, really,” Jim obviously lied, despite his pale appearance and quaking voice.

“Fine, my ass, do ya even know what you look like? Sound like? Probably not, or you’d be tryin’ to hide it better,” McCoy retorted, guiding Jim’s biobed into place against the wall and retreating to find some well-deserved, well-needed hypos.

“I just have a headache,” the blonde excused himself, as if that was the cause for his near-breakdown just minutes earlier.

Bones rolled his eyes, “Uh-huh, some headache you had back there,” he grumbled, clicking a vial into place and pressing it softly into the kid’s neck with practiced precision.

Despite his rare gentleness, the kid still flinched.

“Bones!” Jim yelped, but then quickly sagged back onto the bed looking around the room as if it had never happened.

“Should help with the headache,” he ignored him, placing the hypo aside and staring down at him, “Now, you wanna tell me just what the hell that was about?”

Jim frowned, shuffling even further under the blankets to the point where only his face was sticking out.

“What was what about? You know I don’t like hypos.”

Bones sighed.

_Damn it, stop trying to avoid the damn subject._

“You know what I mean, you damn near had a panic attack in the middle of the corridor without tellin’ me why, and then proceeded to fall silent the rest of the trip back.”

Jim shrugged, scuffling himself onto his side to avoid looking at McCoy.

“Usually I can’t _get_ you to shut up,” he added.

He faintly heard Jim sigh, before hearing a soft mumble that he couldn’t make out.

“You what?” he stepped closer, ignoring how uncomfortable the kid looked, but not missing the rising blood pressure numbers on the overhead monitor.

“I was just worried.”

McCoy snorted, “Yeah, that’s understating it a bit.”

_You were hyperventilatin’ more than an athlete running a hundred-mile marathon._

“Damn it, Bones, what do you want from me!?” Jim suddenly shrieked, flinging the blankets back and wearing the expression of a sulking child.

 

_Push him a bit._

 “I want you to tell me what the hell you were panickin’ about before I make a damn medical log with your name on it!” he demanded back.

He needed to see to this jaundice as soon as possible, but couldn’t do that until the risk of Jim freaking out was lessened.

McCoy watched Jim curl his fingers inwards in frustration, before dropping his eyes to the blankets again.

Finally, he spoke, “You were talking to your staff about me and didn’t say what was wrong.”

Ah.

Come to think of it, he _did_ suddenly go down-hill as soon as he made that call down to medbay.

“I said you had jaundice in your eyes, I didn’t say it was somethin’ more serious.”

Jim scoffed, “You sounded really urgent, and I was getting dizzy, and your voice was fading out, so I assumed something was wrong.”

_Panicking over something being wrong when you just tried to kill yourself yesterday?_

_I’ll deal with that later._

He frowned, “I dunno what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, Jim, but you gotta let me figure out what’s behind the jaundice without you panickin’ on me. Think you can do that?”

Jim looked offended, but shrugged him off.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

He nodded, “I’m gonna get them back in now. If uh…if it gets too much, you tell me, alright?” he said pointedly, stepping back to open the door.

McCoy watched Jim cautiously as he hit the override to let his staff pool into the room, noticing that Kirk didn’t drop eye-contact with him for a second.

Looking over to the monitors, Jim’s blood pressure was still rising, but not enough to be a cause of concern.

Yet.

 

As soon as three fully gowned men entered the room, one certain doctor approached McCoy, looking rather irritated.

McCoy raised an eyebrow at the confrontation, “Boyce?” He stepped aside and approached the inquisitive man.

The other doctor nodded slowly, “Don’t take this the wrong way doc, but I’m curious to know why you didn’t begin examining him as soon as you got him in here. What was it you said over the coms, cirrhosis?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over to Jim. The blonde seemed relatively calm, despite the fact he was staring fixatedly at the ceiling, probably as a distraction.

“I said it _might_ be cirrhosis. If it is, it’s not a medical emergency, but he was panickin’ like I’ve never seen before, I didn’t want the guys touchin’ him if he’s just gonna lash out,” he defended himself, pushing past Boyce to get to Jim and his increasingly rising blood pressure.

Boyce continued to argue from behind him, “You’ve never done that before, usually you just put him under for convenience.”

McCoy felt all the blood rush to his face at that.

_Put him under? For **convenience?**_

He spun around to face him and raised his voice, “I put him under when he’s freaking out, so he doesn’t have to deal with everything,”

Boyce gave him a hard smile, “No doc, you put him under so that _you_ don’t have to deal with him. Why the sudden change of heart now?”

McCoy opened his mouth to say something, but then thought the better of it.

_God damned good for nothing little—_

“You said he had the biggest panic attack you’ve ever seen from him, yet you didn’t sedate him. No offence doc, but it seems you’ve got a little too attached to him,” Boyce gave a wide grin, the complete polar opposite of the current glare upon McCoy’s face.

He gave a snort of dismissive laughter, “If it is cirrhosis, it’s risky to dump more shit into his system.”

Boyce shrugged, nearly jumping when the first doctor tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?” he asked in startled frustration.

“Looks like splenomegaly, sirs,” the doctor said, stepping aside to let McCoy through as he roughly shoved the second doctor out the way.

He nodded in acknowledgement and approached Jim’s bed.

“Hey kid, how ya doin’?” he asked, gingerly pulling his gown back.

Jim gazed up at him warily, his fingers digging into the sheets as if in anticipation for a world of pain.

“S’okay, not gonna hurt ya, jus’ gonna press on your abdomen.”

Jim didn’t even give so much as a nod, but the fact he didn’t retaliate was more than enough consent coming from someone like him.

Despite this, his silence was worrying.

As McCoy prodded and poked on Jim’s stomach for an entirety of ten seconds, it didn’t take long for him to confirm what the other doctor was suggesting.

“Yeah, it’s enlarged alright,” he confirmed, moving to pull Jim’s gown back down and grabbing his PADD from a nearby tray, “Get me a full blood count, pretty sure I was correct on cirrhosis, must have been that damn overdose,”

The other doctors instantly began moving around the room at that, leaving McCoy and Jim alone for a little while.

“It’s alright, I’ve got this one,” Boyce informed the other doctors, who took no time to mutter their _yes sir_ ’s and pushing themselves out of the room.

Eventually, after what seemed like forever, there was a little voice speaking from in front of the CMO.

“Bones?”

McCoy glanced away from the PADD for a second and offered a forced smile. “Yeah kid?” he asked, patting his hand gently.

“What’s going on?”

_Damn. Poor kid looks so scared._

_…Not like him at all…_

“Well, nothing is for sure yet, but it looks like you done fucked up your liver with that overdose, so congratulations, Jim,” he replied sarcastically, returning his glance to the PADD.

A new notice popped up on his tricorder, and he quickly placed the PADD down in favour of his medical device. He briefly scanned through its findings.

_Possible hepatic encephalopathy. Huh. Shit._

“If you could just relax, Captain…”

Bones glanced up again to find Jim squirming away from Boyce, who was trying to stick the blood drawer in him.

He sighed heavily, stepping in to intervene.

“Hey, give it here,” he ordered lightly, whipping it out of the doctor’s hands and grabbing Jim’s arm for himself. His skin was sweating, warm to the touch, he briefly wondered if it was from panic or a fever.

“Bo…Bones…” Jim sobbed, still trying to pull away, lips trembling as if left out in a blizzard for too long.

He sighed.

 _The hell has gotten into you, you son of a bitch?_ He wanted to say.

Instead, he calmly replied, “Just takin’ some blood, this ain’t new for you, kid. Do it every physical, remember? The ones you turn up to, anyway.”

Jim pursed lips formed the faintest smile at the small remark, his tense muscles loosening long enough for McCoy to stab the device in his arm…lightly.

The younger man hissed, pulling away from his grip, but McCoy kept his grip on Jim’s arm long enough to get a decent sample before removing it himself.

McCoy frowned. “No ‘ _Ouch’_? No ‘ _Ow, Bones, what the fuck?_ ’?”

Jim glowered at him before tucking both arms into his chest and rolling onto his side as if to protect himself.

He seemed really distant, untalkative, completely unlike himself. Jim usually always had a stupid remark to say for something as mundane as getting a small shot. But so far, he hasn’t uttered a word except from the doctor’s name and asking what was going on.

An inkling of concern setting in, he asked, “Jim, do you understand why we’re doing this to you?”

Kirk tensed up for a second, before uncurling himself from his ball and shrugging, “I damaged my liver?”

McCoy held himself back from a sigh of relief.

“Damn right you did.”

He saw that Jim opened his mouth to reply before he was interrupted by Boyce.

“Doctor?”

McCoy instantly spun around and turned his attention to the other doctor.

“Yeah?”

He was handed his PADD with haste, “LFTs show cirrhosis is a very likely finding, but we’d have to do a liver biopsy to make sure. Hepatic encephalopathy is also a danger.”

McCoy could hear Jim’s monitors in the background rapidly beeping from the stress. He nodded.

“Yeah, figures. Let’s do a laparoscopic biopsy tomorrow to give him time to calm down, he’s not in any immediate danger right now.”

To his relief, the rapid beeping instantly began to slow down. It became obvious to McCoy it was the biopsy that was about to send the kid into overload.

Thankfully, Boyce seemed to catch on and agreed to the idea, “Alright, doc, do you need one of us with you or can you…handle it on your own?” he gave a subtle glance over to Jim and back to McCoy, silently informing him of the concern of how Jim might react and if he should be alone with him.

“I can handle it,” McCoy told him determinedly, and then, more quietly muttered, “It’s alright, Boyce, I can deal with him. But right now, he needs to de-stress, his blood pressure is through the roof and in case ya haven’t noticed, he’s shaking like a damn leaf again.”

Boyce nodded, immediately making his retreat to the door at that obvious cue to leave, “Alright, let me know if you need anything, doc.”

And with that, McCoy watched he other doctor leave, making sure the door had hissed shut so that he and Jim were alone, before opening the conversation he was dreading to have with him.

Judging by the state of Jim’s body language right now, however, he knew that conversation wouldn’t be for a while.

Sighing, McCoy sat on the edge of Jim’s biobed. Blue eyes flicked up to meet his as the feeling of the bed dipping registered in his mind.

Jim was practically frozen to the bed, having full body tremors, gazing at McCoy in such pure terror that it unnerved him just a little. He was sickly pale, his skin shining from the sheen of sweat all over his face, soft moaning and whimpering becoming more pronounced as his mind became aware he was finally alone with his doctor.

“Jim,” Bones quietly muttered, taking Jim’s hand in his and stroking it gently, “It’s gonna be alright, you hear?”

He knew his words fell on deaf ears as Jim made no attempt to communicate anything other than strained whimpering, lips quivering as the noises left his mouth.

 

Perhaps it was an idea to give him a sedative after all.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Did you enjoy this piece of textual work? Do you desire it's continuation? It is only logical therefore to leave a kudos or comment.**  (please)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's surgery predicament sends him over the edge. McCoy breaks down when he goes missing all day.

**A.N: I just want to say thank you to the people that leave comments and kudos. I know it doesn't seem like much, but to me it's so exciting to hear what you have to say, even if it's just an acknowledgement that you want it to continue. Thank you so much, keep going <3 Here's an early _long_ chapter for you guys.**

 

* * *

 

_“Jim,” Bones quietly muttered, taking Jim’s hand in his and stroking it gently, “It’s gonna be alright, you hear?”_

_He knew his words fell on deaf ears as Jim made no attempt to communicate anything other than strained whimpering, lips quivering as the noises left his mouth._

_Perhaps it was an idea to give him a sedative after all._

 

Jim lay alone on his biobed, feeling his blood run cold as he watched the PADD screen.

A part of his mind that hated him had spent the entire night wondering what his surgery would entail and egged him on to find out.

Unfortunately, he now understood, and all hope of compliantly going through with the whole thing was now out the window. And so was all hope of getting five minutes of sleep before he had to go down.

 _0400 hours,_ the PADD taunted at him.

Two hours until he was being taken down. Every time he reminded himself of that, his stomach sank. Every minute that passed by was a minute closer to Bones coming into the room.

It was still completely pitch black in his private little room, except for the overhead monitor which were slightly dimmed, the quiet bleeping of his heart-rate increasing and decreasing every time he thought about what was coming.

This surgery felt like the end of the world to him.

“Stupid fucking liver,” Jim murmured to himself out loud, as if to make the damaged organ hear him, “Just fucking fix yourself already…”

He sniffed, not realising his nose was blocked from the crying a few hours ago, and shakily dropped the PADD beside him.

He had to stop looking at the damn videos and images, it only made it worse. But it was there, _taunting_ him.

There _had_ to be a way to get out of this, Jim could feel it.

Even if it was something as pathetic as running away—maybe if Bones saw how upset he was, he would call off the surgery. Simply crying and begging him not to didn’t have that effect on him anymore.

 _0435…_ would there be anymore in the corridors this early in the morning? Everyone was still on Gamma shift, so it was likely all working crew were on the bridge.

He couldn’t go back to his quarters, it was the first place they would look. Or anyone’s else’s quarters for that matter.

Perhaps he could hide inside a turbo-shaft for hours on end until they just assumed he was dead.

 

…Dead?

Why did he come to that conclusion so quickly? Why did he _want_ everyone to assume he was dead—his friends and family? Surely, they would have to mourn and grieve?

Images began assaulting his mind—Bones probably drinking himself into a stupor, an empty glass on the table out of habit. It would probably make headline news at Starfleet.

Maybe he could mysteriously reappear once his liver is fixed—a simple physical—hell even a long one, would be much better than enduring whatever…whatever…Bones had in store for him today.

 

It was settled.

 

_0516_

Shit! Did he really spend forty minutes planning that out? He’d better get moving before people began swarming in for the morning routine and prepping him for…surgery.

With that in mind, Jim swallowed hard, grabbing the PADD as he sat up on the bed—because he was intelligent, he knew he would get bored waiting in the turbo shafts for months at a time. Wireless charge was a godsend in this situation.

From watching Bones meddle with the medical equipment numerous times, Jim was easily able to find the mute button to his monitors, so that the staff weren’t alarmed when he disconnected himself and the flatline signal blared by accident.

Everything felt surreal to him, like he was dreaming. And oh _god_ did he wish he was dreaming right now. Or in a nightmare. Whatever it was, he was still here, and surgery was…half an hour away.

Barefooted and cold with only the sickbay gown to protect him, Jim hobbled over to the corner of his room to meet the air vent. His PADD was still warm, keeping his right underarm nicely heated compared to the rest of his body.

Carefully, he knelt down in front of the vent, quietly placing the PADD down—because damn if he was risking the medical staff next door being able to hear a pin drop—then tossed the grating aside, shoving the PADD back under his arm and squeezing into the shaft.

After tightening the grating back over the shaft so that he was locked from the inside, Jim couldn’t help but feel safe.

For the first time in days, he felt _safe._ No-one could get to him in here. No-one knew where he was.

He was tempted to just sit here, spend the next few months in this very spot, with his PADD, watching everything that happened until they were sure he was dead—

…But he knew in this position he would get caught. He had to get to the turboshaft, the air vents could easily be searched.

Holding back a grunt, Jim hauled himself along the bitterly cold metal his hands and knees were kneeling on, the freezing temperatures reminding him that of Delta Vega a few years back.

It felt so long ago now. Everything was so much simpler. Hell, he would give anything to live there right now.

Yes, he would love to live in a freezingly cold bitter planet just to get away from the hellhole he was in now. It was terrifying here, and scary, and he wanted all the medical madness to stop, _just stop,_ and leave him alone.

But no, Bones was his doctor, and Bones was his CMO, so he would probably have him strapped to a table and sedated faster than he could blink if he refused, or…

 

If he tried to escape…

 

Swallowing nervously, Jim pushed on, trying to ignore how painful the cold metal was against his knees. He tried to pull the gown over his knees; perhaps he could just shuffle through the vents using the gown as a mat, but it was too enclosed and there was no room to remove it.

Carefully, Jim let go of his PADD so that it slid to the ground, fumbling to turn it on so he could check the time.

_0546\. Shit. They’re coming any minute now._

His heart racing, he shoved his PADD back under his arm and continued crawling.

The further he got, the more he began to realise that he had somehow managed to memorise every vent. There must be hundreds in the ship, how was that possible?

Marvelling at his intelligence for a second, he moved along to fit inside another long narrow vent, his body just about managing to squeeze inside it. His arms were stuck pinned against the walls, but at least he was able to force his knees to keep moving.

He would get there. He would.

 

* * *

 

 

McCoy was startled awake by the shrill sound of the ship alarm.

Shit! Was Jim in trouble!?

He yanked open his eyes, adrenaline coursing through his body to provide him the energy of a madman, before realising…it was just his work alarm.

 

He was late.

 

Sighing, both with relief and in frustration, McCoy felt his body sag back into itself as he began to calm down.

_Jim’s fine._

_...For now._

He dreaded trying to drag the kid into surgery today. He had an argument last night with his _own_ staff…or, really, they were trying to help him, but he didn’t see it that way.

They reminded him of procedure— _a doctor shouldn’t perform surgery on their friends, due to risk of becoming emotionally compromised._

But fuck procedure, this had now transgressed far beyond that. Jim needed him, and there was no way on earth that Jim would even agree to the procedure if it wasn’t someone he trusted that were operating.

And there was no-one he trusted. Except him.

 

“ _SIR! Doctor McCoy!”_

He didn’t even realise his communicator was resounding.

Immediately, he jumped over to the wall and slammed a fist on the button. “Yeah?”

_Too damn difficult to come see me yourself?_

_…Actually, yeah, don’t come near me._

“Sir, the Capt—…Kirk isn’t in his room! He’s just vanished!”

 

McCoy suddenly felt like he was going to throw up.

 

“ _What?!_ What the hell do you mean he’s not there? What happened to the damn alarms?” he shouted, already swiping up his medical uniform and throwing it over himself as he slid out his door.

He grabbed his communicator as the conversation was automatically transferred there.

“He’s silenced the alarms, the flatline signal started about an hour ago.”

McCoy surged forward, “He’s been missing for over an _hour!?”_

_Damn kid! What the fuck is wrong with you! What the fuck are you doing! Where the fuck have you gone? What the hell… What the fuck… What in the name of unholy—_

“We’ve already started a search. He couldn’t have gone far.”

_What!_

“Couldn’t have gone far!” he scoffed in incredulity, “Good god man, he could be anywhere by now! Could be…could be dyin’ alone somewhere because you _idiots_ let him out of your sight!”

“Sir…we couldn’t have done much. He muted the monitors and you ordered us not to disturb him until duty today.”

That was true…but still,

“And you didn’t anticipate that this could happen? You were supposed to be watchin’ him!”

There was silence from the other end.

Until finally…

“I’m truly sorry, sir. We will find him.”

He snorted in anger, his nostrils flaring as the words he wanted to say battled with the logical side of his mind that wouldn’t leave his mouth.

“I think you better get down here, sir.”

“Yeah, no shit, I’m on my way, jus’…jus’ keep lookin’ for him.”

His communicator chirped at that, letting him know that the nurse had ended the transmission.

Sickbay was in sight now.

If Jim wasn’t already dead, McCoy was going to _kill_ him.

 

* * *

 

Jim was feeling incredibly regretful that he had attempted to escape. Judging by the sheer panic and commotion he could hear around him, he knew he’d be dead meat by the time he was found.

Unless…he didn’t let himself get caught.

They were shouting to someone, probably Bones, apologising and telling him of their ‘bad news’. And the voice that shouted back was desperate, scared and angry. He knew it was him. No-one ever worries for Jim as much as Bones does.

He almost felt guilty…if it wasn’t for the fact Bones was forcing him into this surgery that he didn’t want and would probably drug him to get him there.

“He couldn’t have left through the door, we would have saw him,” he heard a female voice that he couldn’t pinpoint, probably someone who was on night shift in sickbay.

“How the hell else could he have gotten out? He’s not clinging to the damn ceiling!”

Well, that was definitely Bones. Finally arrived to take him to his torture then.

“We have to let commander Spock know. He should be able to seal off all exits around the ship until we can locate him.”

“Yeah…yeah, do that.”

 

If he could still hear their voices, then clearly, he was still too near.

Soldiering on, Jim managed to crawl down another entire vent, and was about to turn a corner when his PADD started vibrating.

_Shit! Shut up! Shut up-shut up-shut up-shut up-----phew._

It stopped vibrating.

Taking a breath, he untucked it from his underarm and took a moment to see what it said.

 

_1 new message from Dr. L. McCoy, M.D, CMO._

 

Jim would’ve gagged if he wasn’t so hyperaware of his surroundings. One wrong move and it was all over for him. It was like hiding in a lion’s habitat, tiptoeing around trying to find the exit, hoping not to get caught or risk being eaten.

Shifting a tingling numb hand from his side, he managed to press the screen to open the message.

 

_Dr. L. McCoy, M.D., CMO,  
to Capt. James. T. Kirk._

_Where the hell are you? You little bastard. We will find you, you know. I’m offering you to tell me where you are, and maybe I’ll go easy on you. Get back to me, now._

_-McCoy._

 

Jim internally laughed. Both in anxiety and bemusement.

_Why didn’t he just contact my communicator? …Oh yeah, I’m not allowed that. Thank god I didn’t have it on me, he could’ve tracked me that way._

_…Could he find me through the PADD…?_

_Obviously not, or he would’ve found me by now._

Once again, he shifted the PADD under his arm and continued on, trying to find a light at the end of these never-ending tunnels.

 

 

* * *

 

**_1 hour later._ **

 

 

McCoy paced back and forth the medbay like a drugged up headless chicken, trying to figure out how the _hell_ Jim Kirk managed to escape from the confines of his room.

They’d already checked with Scotty, and the transporter logs, both of which swore solemnly that they had nothing to do with it.

“We _will_ find him,” Christine Chapel reassured him for the sixth time that hour, “There’s only this ship to hide in, he can’t go very far.”

McCoy snorted, and stopped his frantic pacing to turn and face her. He looked around for a second, checking if there was anyone else in the room who would see him let his guard down.

“M’ fuckin’ scared shitless, Chris. We’ve no idea where he could have gone—what if he’s lyin’ injured somewhere, bleedin’ out? I’ve tried messagin ‘im again and there’s still no answer…” he shook his head at the dark thoughts that had begun to surface in his mind.

“Your accent gets thicker the more stressed you get,” Chapel observed, offering him a smile that didn’t do anything to help the swirling nausea in his stomach, or the images of Jim lying dead or in pain, all alone.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind, m’ sure it’ll come in handy for the search,” he bit back sarcastically, throwing his arms down and slamming his back against the wall.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Christine stood close to him, _too close,_ putting a hand on his shoulder to help ground him, “We’ll find him. He’s…he’s a little shit,” she smirked, having rarely swore on duty before.

McCoy glanced up and smirked back, before shaking his head again and running a hand through his hair.

“How could he do this to me, Chris?” he asked quietly, knowing this was dangerous territory. But he needed to let his stress out at someone before he broke something. “He knows how I get…the damned idiot. He knows how damn protective I am of him. Not like I’ll ever tell him that.”

Chapel gripped his forearm and gestured to a chair, clearly trying to get him to sit down. Which was probably a good idea considering his head was swimming.

“He’s in a bad place. Probably doesn’t realise. I’m sure he wouldn’t do this to you on purpose,” she offered, sitting down next to him, “He was afraid of the surgery today, right? He’s probably as scared as you are right now.”

McCoy kept his eyes fixated on his PADD, waiting for a notification that would never come. _Something_ to tell him that his friend was okay, that he was still alive, still breathing.

“I don’t know where else to check. It doesn’t make sense. Could someone have agreed to hide him?”

Chapel shrugged but gave a slight indication of a nod, “It’s worth a try to find out. Ship-wide announcement?”

McCoy nodded too, sighing and flinging the PADD aside to grab his communicator.

“McCoy to bridge. Spock?” he kept his voice steady, a lump forming in his throat.

“Spock here, doctor. Have you managed to locate the Captain?”

McCoy closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the wall, “No,” he sighed quietly, “I’m thinking someone has him.”

A momentary pause.

“You are suggesting that someone has taken the Captain as a hostage?”

McCoy’s eyes widened as he stared at the com, “God, no, Spock. I mean he could be hiding in someone’s quarters.”

Another pause…

“A logical assumption, doctor. I assume you are asking for permission to make an announcement ship-wide?”

“Yeah, uh…listen, about that, you’re the Captain now, they might listen to you if you do it. Could you do the honours?”

“Of course, doctor. See to it that you avoid an emotional breakdown.”

And just like that, the transmission ended.

McCoy stared in disbelief at the communicator.

_That green-blooded smug son-of-a-bitch._

“He’s right, you know,” said the voice of his nurse behind him, “Do you wanna take the day off? I can’t see you working like this.”

It was tempting. So very tempting. He could spend the entire day searching for Jim.

But alas, his ego got the better of him.

“Nah, I’ve gotta be an example. Gives the wrong message if I take a day off cos’ I’m emotional, they’ll all try to do the same thing.”

Chapel smiled at his persistence and nodded, “If you change your mind, let me know. I can cover for you.”

McCoy offered a weak shrug before striding to pick up his PADD again.

Still no messages.

_God damn it..._

* * *

 

 

Jim lay on his stomach, in a pool of his own vomit, half-awake and half-asleep.

Every now and then his PADD would vibrate, adding yet another notification from his doctor to the list of things he was going to ignore.

His stomach hurt like a bitch, and he wasn’t quite sure where he had cut himself because he saw blood mixed in with his vomit too.

He was tempted to grab the damn PADD and contact Bones, sending a sweet message such as _please help me, everything hurts, and I want to go home._

But he couldn’t. Bones would wrestle him on a biobed and sedate him. Then perform surgery. And the prospect was terrifying.

Wearily through blurry eyes, Jim glanced over to his PADD, trying to focus on the number next to the messages icon.

_6 unread messages._

Deciding to have Bones in a place where he could help him without touching him, Jim struggled to pull a hand out that was completely numb at this point from behind his back, pressing it against the screen and reading the messages that appeared.

 

- _Gonna play this the hard way, huh? Let me tell you, if you ain’t dead I’m gonna make sure you are by the time I get my hands on you. Tell me where you are before I decide to take you off duty for the rest of the damn year._

_\--McCoy._

 

_-Where are you, kid?_

_\--McCoy._

 

 

_-Jim, it’s been three hours, this isn’t funny anymore. I’m concerned. I just want to know where you are, let me know, please._

_\--Bones._

 

_-Damn it. I’m scared that I’m gonna lose you. I can’t do anything about it because I don’t know where you are. I’ve checked everywhere, hell I’ve even taken the day off work. I’ve searched every damn corner of this ship. I’m too old for this shit, Jim, for the love of god, tell me where you are._

_\--Bones._

 

_-Jim, it’s been six hours. I’m scared for you, buddy, where are you? I won’t do the surgery if that’s what it takes for you to come out. Let me know where you are._

_\--Bones._

Jim couldn’t get himself to read the last message.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he didn’t even try to stop himself from letting out a choked sob.

 

* * *

 

 

He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, but still, he wasn’t hungry.

McCoy glared solemnly at the plate and glass of bourbon in front of him, every ten seconds glancing over to his PADD, still disappointed to find there was no sign of Jim.

It was now 1800 hours, and Jim had been missing since 0600 this morning. At some point he had finally relented to the nagging of Chapel and took the day off, spending the whole day searching every room for Jim—hell, he even interrogated Lieutenant Farlow in his brig cell with Spock in tow, but to no avail.

Chapel had offered to sit with him until they found him, but hell, he wanted to wallow in peace.

He felt sick. He hated not knowing. Was Jim dying somewhere? Was he confused, lost, hurt? Or was he just punishing him for wanting to perform surgery?

He didn’t know.

The nausea in his stomach seemed to turn into anxiety, swiftly increasing to the point where he burst into a fit of rage, grabbing the plate of food and smashing it against the wall.

Shattered pieces of glass rained everywhere.

_Fuck._

Hopefully they would understand and wouldn’t ask him about it, he didn’t want to explain.

Sinking his head into his hands, a sigh turn into a choked sob, and he was suddenly glad he was alone.

 

Just then, his PADD vibrated.

 

Glancing up in hope, he peered over to his PADD.

It was just another message about physical timeslots.

He grunted and threw his head back into his hands again, trying to keep himself calm.

_Don’t think I’ve ever been so anxious in my damned life._

_Not even shuttle-flying compares to this shit._

 

After five more minutes of staring at his PADD in false hope, he switched the damn thing off with a shake of his head and stood up from his chair.

_Time to go for a damned walk and get someone to clean up this mess._

Tucking his PADD under his arm, he took a leisurely stroll over to the wall-com half drunk and hit the button with the back of his fist.

“Maintenance…need clean-up in CMO’s quarters…broken stuff…”

He felt like ten minutes had passed before there was a reply,

“Acknowledged, we’ll get a man out to you as soon as possible. Leave your door unlocked.”

It had only been three seconds.

Blinking sluggishly, he grunted and hit his fist on the button with more pleasure than he would care to admit.

Just for good measure, he took Jim’s glass, and lunged that against the wall too.

Smiling sadly at the additional piles of glass on the floor, he turned on his heel to leave the room, making sure to keep the door unlocked.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Scotty glared at the third engineer that day who was hovering over a new unspecified ‘contraption’ that he was working on.

Or, the ‘better way to improve warp capabilities without increasing use of dilithium crystals’-inator.

And frankly, the amount of engineers who bunked off their job to try and figure out what he was doing was beginning to get on his nerves. It was like they had some bet going on or something.

Yet, here was another one, frozen to the spot and gazing back at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Ye just gonna stand there? Gie it!”

The redshirt nodded sheepishly and darted off into another direction which _wasn’t_ his assigned location.

Scott sighed. He was too fed-up with them today to tell them off again. It was hard enough to get them to stop staring at him.

Finally, on his own again, he returned his attention back to his device and reviewed his calculations for the last test.

“Seems sturdy enough,” he mumbled to himself, turning towards the simulation again, “Well, ‘ere goes nothing.”

Before he could even start the simulation, he heard a loud _THUMP_ that made him jump out of his skin.

Instantly getting to his feet, he glanced around the room, expecting his engineers to be pranking him in order to distract him.

But there was no-one there.

 

_THUMP._

 

He scowled, glancing upwards to where the noise was coming from.

“Who’s muckin’ aboot up there?”

 

Silence…

 

“Ye nae distracting me from my amazing contraption, laddie!”

 

Again, nothing.

 

Just as he turned back to his station, he heard a faint strained whimper coming from above him.

Frowning, Scotty grabbed his tricorder and began running heat signatures over the walls, hoping to find whoever it was that was messing around.

He was gonna sanction them for a day—no, a _week,_ for distracting him from his duty and playing games, he was gonna write up a report, he was gonna tell _Spock,_ he was gonna—

_One heat signature coming from maintenance vents._

That was odd. Engineering wasn’t scheduled for maintenance for another month.

“Aye, who’s hiding in th’ vents? Ye could get intae’ trouble for that, laddie,” he announced, striding over to the vents himself to find out who it was, planning his reprimand speech as he approached it.

Tossing his tricorder aside and lifting the grating from the wall, he glanced up the probably mile-long shaft and nearly fainted.

“Jim!” he shouted, instantly whipping out his communicator, his heart racing looking at the state of him, “Jim! Are ye alrigh’?” it was blatantly obvious he wasn’t.

The blonde, the _Captain,_ was unconscious, pale as a sheet, and seemed to be subconsciously grasping his stomach and shaking. And if he wasn’t mistaken, there was trails of vomit all down the shaft.

“Acht…oh no,” he mumbled, turning his attention back to the communicator, having a strange feeling of de ja vu from when he first found Jim on the floor after being thrown off the balcony,

“Scott to Doctor McCoy, are ye there?”

He heard Jim moaning from the echoing vents, glancing up again to realise he was trying to crawl again.

“Jim! Laddie! Dinnae move!”

“McCoy here, what is it Scotty?” the gruff voice sounded strained.

“Ah found Jim, doctor, he’s in a terrible state! I’m in engineering, he’s been hiding in the shafts!”

Scotty swore he heard a sigh of relief from the other end and a quiet _oh thank fuck._

“I’m on my way, don’t let him move.”

“Aye” he murmured, flipping the device shut and turning his head up to find Jim again. There was no way they’d be able to reach him from down there, he’d have to come down on his own.

“Jim? Ye there laddie?” he shouted up the shaft.

There was a faint moan echoing down the chute in reply, letting him know thankfully that Jim was indeed still conscious.

“Alrigh’…dinnae move, Jim. Are ye hurt?” stupid question, he obviously was, but from emergency training everyone was given back at the Academy, he knew to try and keep him talking.

“Sc…” he heard Jim trying to say his name, but was obviously struggling judging by the strangled moan, “Scotty?”

He nodded despite Jim not being able to see, “Aye, am here laddie, don’t ye worry.”

Another grunt, another _thump,_ and a moan.

“Burns”

Scotty frowned, “Ye got some burns?”

“No…stomach…burns…”

“Aye…” well at least it wasn’t something in engineering that could get him the sack, “Just hang tight lad, the good doctor is on his way.”

He assumed that wasn’t the right response when he heard Jim’s breathing quicken. So, he tried to change the subject.

“How th’ hell did ye get in there?”

There was strained laughter. The situation was pretty weird. He was talking thirty feet up a turbo shaft to his Captain who somehow got stuck there.

“Mmm…wanted to get away…”

“Ye’ve been missin’ all day, who was ye trying to get away from?”

There was a long pause.

“…Bones”

…Oh.

Scotty was surprised, “Ye mean the doctor?”

“...Uh huh…”

“Acht…I’ve just called ‘im down ‘ere...”

“Yeah…I know, I heard you, Scotty…”

“Where the hell is he!”

Scott turned around immediately to find McCoy storming into the room with six other medical officers and two security guards. He knew he should probably back out of the room when they came equipped with a ton of medical stuff he’d never been before and a stretcher with restraints all over it.

Obviously, they assumed Jim wouldn’t get out of here willingly.

Wordlessly, Scotty pointed to the shaft he had been speaking to Jim with, waiting for McCoy to stomp over and stare up at the ceiling before making his hasty exit.

He’d come back when he was sure he wasn’t about to see his Captain have a breakdown in front of everyone. It wasn’t something he wanted to see, and he was sure Jim wouldn’t want him to either.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jim! Get down here, _now!_ ”

Jim shook his head, knowing Bones couldn’t see him, but either way he wasn’t moving. Ever. He wasn’t going to be within a mile of that man for the rest of his life if he could help it.

“What are you, _five?_ Stop being such an infant and get down here!”

Jim remained quiet, grasping onto his vomit-soaked gown as if it were his security blanket.

“ ** _NOW!”_** he heard Bones roar, making him jump and tighten his grip on his gown.

Deathly afraid of Bones right now, he shuffled backwards in an attempt to get even further away, having no idea where abouts he was—all he could see was darkness and metal walls.

He just about managed to overhear hushed talking, probably plotting against him, to trap him or something. Problem was, he didn’t know which vent they were going to open to get to him, or maybe they’d try to trap him from both sides.

Then, Bones spoke again.

“Jim, I’ve been trying to find you all day. Do you have _any_ idea how much you’ve scared me?”

Jim again remained quiet, worried that anything he might say would make everything worse. He had some horrible fear of Bones right now; in fact, he had a fear of being anywhere near anyone and anything medical at all.

He had no idea why.

All he knew was that he wanted to run but didn’t know which way to go, and then his hands and knees were shaking too much to move. If he tried to put pressure on them, it was like his limbs just crumbled.

“Are you hurt?”

Jim glanced up at that. God, he hurt so much. Maybe he could help him without coming near.

“Burning…feel sick…tired…”

He heard more distant chatter before the doctor spoke up again,

“Burning? In what way? Injured burns from an accident or something just feels like it’s burning?”

Jim blinked, glancing down to his stomach, cradling it with one trembling sweat-soaked hand.

“Stomach” he said simply.

He faintly heard the word _shit_ being muttered, which only made his heart start racing in his chest again.

“Jim, can you come to where I can see you?”

_No. No, I’m not going anywhere near you. It’s a trap._

“No.” he stated firmly.

There was a heavy sigh, “Why not?”

He heard a loud _CLANK_ which startled him out his skin, then a hissed _keep it down!_ In the distance.

He knew it was a trap.

“No” he breathed, shuffling backwards, “No”

“Jim? Where are you going? It’s alright, stay there.”

“No!” he spat out louder this time, shuffling backwards beyond the vent that the people in engineering would be able to access.

Good, he can still escape then, as long as they didn’t climb in after him using that vent.

“Jim? Jim for the love of god, don’t run away again, _please.”_ Bones generally sounded desperate, a hint of worry in his voice, that made Jim’s heart sink for a second.

He didn’t want to make Bones upset, he was just…just scared of him.

“I don’t trust you,” he announced, staring suspiciously at the vent, waiting for it to open.

“Okay…alright, you don’t have to trust me, Jim, just don’t run away again, okay? We can talk about this,”

_CRASH._

Jim jumped so hard he hit his hip on the side of the metal wall.

They were still trying to come after him.

Making his mind up, Jim continued shuffling backwards as fast as he could, trying with everything he could to ignore Bones’ desperate pleas to stop when he heard him moving away.

“Jim! Jim, I said don’t move, damn it! Jim! _Jim please!”_

Feeling like he was in some sort of nightmare, he began to feel his chest constrict with panic, desperately trying to move away, wanting to be alone again.

Why couldn’t they let him be?

 

All of a sudden, there was a loud _CLANG!_

Jim glanced up with wild eyes.

_CLASH!_

“No no no no no—” Jim breathed, desperately hauling himself backwards, “Leave me alone!”

To his dismay—and surprise—McCoy himself had climbed into the damn turboshaft looking like a dishevelled mess.

Still, the doctor paused in front of him, and with the little restricted space they had, pulled his hands out in from of him in the universal surrender pose.

“Not gonna hurt ya, alright? Not gonna hurt ya. Just need you to stay here and talk to me, okay? Got nothing with me at all. Just you n’ me, Jim.”

Jim shook his head, his entire body wracked with shaking, a surge of panic rising in his throat causing him to throw up again, bile running over the smooth metal.

McCoy gazed at him in alarm, staring at it as if he’d never seen vomit before.

“Jim…” his eyes widened, “Jim there’s blood in your vomit. You need to come with me _now_ , kid,” his friend—no, his _enemy_ , looked generally frightened.

“S’nothing…nothing…been doing that for a while…just…just…j-just…” he inhaled sharply as the shakes took him over for a moment, “just…cut myself somewhere…that’s all…”

McCoy looked doubtful, “Jim, you’ve got blood in your damn vomit because of your…dammit Jim, come here!”

Jim shuffled back again, “No!”

McCoy only came after him, causing Jim to only back away—until he saw Bones’ face light up in alarm—then everything was a blur.

There was light everywhere—people were grabbing him, holding him, restraining him, pinning his arms above his head while he screamed _NO,_ because he didn’t want them to touch him, and faintly he could he Bones ordering them around in the background, the doctor snapping on his gloves which just made Jim feel even more threatened.

Clearly this was all part of their plan.

It was only then when he realised that they had removed the vent plate behind him so that he would fall through, and Bones chasing him to back into it was part of the plan.

“Alright, good job—get him on the bed, put him in full body restraints, _soft_ restraints, get an IV in him, push twenty milligrams of diazepam, three percent inhalational isoflurane—”

“Bones don’t do this to me!” Jim screamed, thrashing around like an out-of-control lab experiment. He visually saw Bones swallow hard at that but tried to maintain his ‘doctor face’.

The rest of his security blanket aka his gown was ripped off as he was plonked onto the biobed in the middle of engineering and held there by three people he couldn’t even process before being strapped down to the bed.

He tried to fight them, because something proud surfaced to the forefront of his mind, _I’m James Tiberius Kirk,_ but for some reason he wasn’t a match for them.

With overwhelming clarity he felt each limb pinned down—his legs, his arms, his head, hell they even bothered to take down his torso, fastening the straps tightly which tugged at his limbs before someone’s white rubbery glove decided to smother his face with a mask that was making a hissing noise and it sounded familiar like it had happened before but he couldn’t remember but it felt dangerous and he wanted to fight and _oh god it’s too much—_

“Jim? Jim, I need you to calm down darlin’. Okay? Yeah, I’m gonna fix you up, alright? When you wake up it’ll be done, I promise, there’ll be no more of this. Right? Settle down…breathe this in real deep for me, okay?”

Jim struggled to process the information Bones was firing at him but somehow it helped ground him. He tried to move his arms to push the hands away from him, but they were tightly locked in belt-like restraints. Instead, they tugged and rattled at the strain.

His eyes rolled around in their sockets and he tried to focus on something, but whoever was suffocating him with that damn mask was causing problems. That mask was the problem. He needed to get rid of it.

Then he realised he was strapped down. So, he _couldn’t_ get rid of it.

He started hyperventilating in terror. Bones noticed, saying something about needing to keep it on.

The bed started moving—he could tell, because the ceiling was spinning, and Jim’s heart was racing so hard it was beginning to hurt.

He heard muttering from above him, and he tried to decipher what they were saying, before suddenly he was hit with an overwhelming fatigue that was dragging him down against his will.

“No” Jim whimpered quietly, knowing what this was, “No. Bones—stop it.”

Bones glanced down sympathetically at him, his expression looking downright distraught in ways that Jim didn’t even know was possible for the man.

The hand holding the mask down on his face moved, and Jim realised it was Bones holding it.

“Stop, guys—stop the bed,” Bones demanded to Jim’s surprise. And thankfully, the world stopped spinning. They were now half way in the middle of a corridor.

“It’s too much for him. Lets wait for him to fall asleep and then we’ll bring him down.”

There was a cluster of various _yes sir’s_ before Bones’ face appeared above Jim again, replacing the bland view of the now not-spinning ceiling.

Jim blinked wearily at him, not able to muster a word as Bones’ fingers grasped his jaw and lifted it upright with the mask, for reasons completely unknown to him.

“Alright?”

Jim couldn’t bring himself to move. His heart was galloping in his chest, absolutely petrified.

“Take some more deep breaths,” McCoy offered, readjusting his grip on Jim’s jaw and the mask again, practically forcing him to look at the ceiling when he just wanted to turn his head into the pillow and not see anything. “Anaesthesia’s taking a while to work, your damn body does everything the hard way.”

_I wish you didn’t have to explain everything, Bones._

He was beginning to believe that he was immune to their despicable plan before he felt his muscles begin to relax against his will.

“That’s it. There ya go, kid” he heard distantly, Bones was miles away now. The room looked so far away, like a long tunnel, it felt so weird.

He shut his eyes, exhausted. And whined under his breath, the thick dizzying fog in his head unstoppable.

Vaguely his mind registered a hand on his shoulder, and another one gently rubbing circular motions into the back of his hand.

He tried his hardest, but frankly, the drugs won.

 

He finally fell asleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He checked once.

 

Twice.

 

Three times.

 

Jim was _finally_ asleep.

 

“My god,” he muttered, shaking his head, unable to stop staring at Jim’s prone form. He looked a mess. He waved his hand at the accompanying staff to begin moving the bed down to sickbay again.

“Doctor.”

McCoy looked up, surprised to see none other than Spock himself just leaving the turbolift, following after them.

Ah yes, they were in the middle of the corridor, of course he was gonna run into someone at some point.

“Spock,” he nodded towards him, then gave a side glance to his staff, “You can insert the IV now,” he told them, quickly looking back at the monitor, “And intubate him with a laryngeal mask.”

Spock approached after that, gazing at Jim’s unconscious form more than McCoy guessed was necessary.

“Can I help you?” he growled, not liking the idea of Jim being gazed upon like a zoo exhibition.

Spock frowned, “He is sleeping,” he observed, not taking his eyes away from the blonde, “In the corridor. Why?”

McCoy sighed, why did the damn Vulcan want to know everything about everything?

“He was agitated. And that’s an understatement. So, I stopped the hoverbed and sedated him back there.”

Spock seemed to be uncomfortable looking at the medical staff intubating Jim.

_Well, maybe he shouldn’t be looking at him, then._

“What will you do now?”

He shrugged, “I’m takin’ him into surgery,” he stated simply.

“I assume the details are classified.”

“Patient confidentiality.”

Spock nodded.

The pointy eared bastard appeared…concerned. He just wouldn’t stop looking at Jim. In a normal situation he would probably gaze upon the injured crew member and walk on, or not even acknowledge them at all.

This wasn’t a normal situation, though.

“Doctor, do you have a theory for why the Captain attempted to escape?”

McCoy was about to speak when the Vulcan interrupted him again, “I am, however, not surprised, after being confined in a space with you for a long period of time, I too would seek solitude.”

McCoy snorted, turning the corner and passing through the medbay doors as they hissed open, “No idea, Spock,” he chose to ignore the remark. He wasn’t in the time or place to start getting frustrated with the Vulcan, “He was fine, just left him sleepin’, got a call the next day saying the damn moron went missing. Spent all day lookin’ for him too.”

_And nearly had a damn breakdown, but he doesn’t need to know that._

There was silence from the other man for a whole ten seconds, McCoy was literally right outside the door to the operating room before Spock started speaking again.

“I do have a hypothesis on the reasoning for Jim’s escape. I require your opinion.”

_What?_

He nearly laughed, “Spock can’t ya see I’m about to go into surgery with him? We’ll have to talk later,” he said, ushering the staff to just get in the room and set up while Spock no doubt would continue talking.

Of course, he did.

“I believe the prisoner, Lieutenant Farlow, may have had something to do with it.”

Scowling, McCoy leaned back against the wall next to the door and listened.

This _would_ be useful if Spock’s ‘theory’ was worth something.

Spock continued, “I realise that several days ago, the Captain—”

“ _Jim_ , Spock,” McCoy corrected him irreverently.

“…Jim, had attempted to communicate to us that the Lieutenant allegedly wanted to, as he put it, ‘kill his entire crew.’ It is possible his words were correct, and he seeked to find retribution.”

McCoy folded his arms, “Spock, _no-one_ died, there’s no reason for him to seek revenge. And besides, he was drugged, hell, he _overdosed_ to the point where his liver has suddenly entered advantage stages of failure and I’ve gotta put it back together—if you would let me through the damn doors!”

Spock was unyielding, “Nevertheless doctor, Jim is protective of his crew, there may be more to the story than Jim lets on. Perhaps, he is hiding something. Humans have a tendency to protect those close to them.”

_God damn it._

“Spock…I don’t know what you’re tryin’ to achieve here, but if you got some idea on how to drag the answers out of our imprisoned crewmember then go ahead. But I’m a doctor, not a court judge, I need to start the surgery, he’s critically ill.”

Spock nodded at that, “Very well, doctor. I will attempt to force the answers out of the Lieutenant using unorthodox methods.”

McCoy nodded, about to turn towards the doors before Spock’s words processed through his distracted mind and he froze.

“Wait, Spock!” he shouted, whirling back around to face him. Spock turned and raised an eyebrow.

“The hell do you mean _unorthodox?_ What the hell are you planning? He’s still a damn member of Starfleet!”

Spock’s icy stare almost made McCoy regret his words. Almost.

“The Captain is critically injured, and we are no closer to answers. I will not risk the…I will not risk Jim’s life.”

And with that, Spock gracefully spun back around and walked out of sickbay’s doors.

McCoy stared at the doors as they shut, subtly a little nervous for what the Vulcan was planning for the Lieutenant. Spock shouldn’t be messed with when angry. Clearly Jim’s vulnerable state pushed him over the edge.

 

Grunting, he shook his head in disbelief and headed back towards surgery doors, striding into the room to begin what was very likely to be the longest procedure of his life.

 

* * *

 

 **Did you enjoy this piece of textual work? Do you desire it's continuation? It is only logical therefore to leave a kudos or comment.**  (please)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, and April Fools. Here's a chapter full of angst to make you sad. 
> 
> McCoy is affected by the trauma both he and Jim have been through, meanwhile Spock is on a mission to find out exactly what the Lieutenant did to his Captain.

_“The Captain is critically injured, and we are no closer to answers. I will not risk the…I will not risk Jim’s life.”_

_McCoy stared at the doors as they shut, subtly a little nervous for what the Vulcan was planning for the Lieutenant. Spock shouldn’t be messed with when angry. Clearly Jim’s vulnerable state pushed him over the edge._

_Grunting, he shook his head in disbelief and headed back towards surgery doors, striding into the room to begin what was very likely to be the longest procedure of his life._

* * *

 

McCoy stared at the large organ in front of him in uncertainty. It was clearly laughing at him as his mind raced through the possibilities of what he was looking at.

“Liver could be lacerated but I can’t tell if it’s just the damn cirrhosis,” he proclaimed, glancing up at his attending nurse and gesturing to the tray, “Give me a retractor.”

Chapel immediately launched herself over to the tray of instruments while McCoy wondered if he was doing the right thing.

Never before had he questioned himself in surgery; he was the determined know-it-all that frequently knocked the socks off of all bystanders—but this time, he had no idea. The damage was too severe.

Although, it could have something to do with the fact that Spock had not-so-subtly suggested he was going to invent his little own form of torture on the ex-lieutenant Farlow. Right now. While he was doing surgery.

“Retractor, doctor.”

He almost didn’t notice the instrument was pressed into his hand.

_Damn, I’m so distracted._

_Pull yourself together, man._

He nodded towards Chapel, “Retracting the liver, “ he mumbled, deep in focus, or at least so he pretended to be.

“BP’s tanked,” the nurse declared, “Doctor, we need to hurry this up,”

The announcement from his assistant was confirmed when an alarm suddenly sounded from the monitor.

Cursing under his breath, he turned away from his patient and grabbed a retractor with his blood-soaked gloves, not missing the frown etched above Chapel’s mask.

“You’re supposed to ask _me_ so that you don’t take your eyes off him,” he heard her taunt in his ear.

McCoy ignored her, “Clamping the hepatoduodenal ligament,”

Seconds after the instrument was in place, the shrill warning beeping had stopped.

He didn’t allow himself to sigh in relief before he grabbed a probe from the table with one hand and a scalpel in the other.

Chapel spoke up behind him, a hand on his shoulder nearly making him jump,

“Doctor. _Stop_.” She demanded, which only sent a flood of determined adrenaline through his veins.

No, he was finishing this.

He inserted the probe skilfully onehanded into the incision and lowered the scalpel to his patient—to _Jim’s_ liver.

His hands shook.

_Fuck._

But he had to do it anyway. Now.

 

“Stop.”

 

He made an incision over Jim’s liver and quickly stemmed the bleed.

See? No problem at all.

 

“Doctor. Your hands are shaking, this is dangerous and against protocol, _stop.”_

McCoy purses his lips, “Just do your damn job, Christine. Cauterize the wound here,” he gestured to his incision and grabbed a pair of forceps.

Chapel obeyed her CMO but was unrelenting in her pursuit to murder Jim due to medical negligence;

“If you don’t stop this right now, I’m gonna get Boyce in here to remove and relieve you of duty due to being emotionally compr—”

That did it—

“I’m not emotionally compromised, dammit!” he shouted, the tip of his scalpel hovering dangerously close to Jim’s kidney, “We have a patient open on the damn table, shut up and do your damn job before I have _you_ removed from the room!”

Chapel furiously whipped the scalpel out of McCoy’s hand and darted away in the opposite direction, over to the wall comm.

He hissed more curses under his breath, grabbed another scalpel and continued working—he wasn’t emotionally compromised, he was obviously still able to perform despite his assistant being inept.

Jim’s liver could be saved, modern advances could do that, but only if his staff weren’t trying to throw him out of the room while in the middle of doing it.

He knew the technique; make five incisions on the liver…remove scarring from the inside of scar tissue…use a protoplaser against the bleeding that will occur from the removed tissue…

His scalpel was silent as he made his third incision, before—

“Okay, that’s enough, get away from him,” a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders—in the middle of _surgery,_ and tried to pull him away. Who the hell did they think they were?

“What the hell are you doin’?” he yelled at the offending voice, “I’m in the middle of surgery here!”

The scalpel was yanked out of his shaking hands while he just stared on with protruding eyes, reminding himself to take slow steady breaths to supress his anger.

“You’re emotionally compromised, I can take over from here, come on,”

He turned around to see it was Boyce, fully gowned as if he was actually intending to take over.

 

Like hell he was.

 

“Get outta here, Phil, I can do this myself,” he made a few steps towards the table before he was being tugged away again.

“No, you’re coming with me,” a few extra pulls at his arms to prove it.

What in the _hell_ were these people thinking!

“You all gone fuckin’ insane?!” he protested as he was dragged away, “You can’t leave a man open on the damn table! He could die! Phil! What the fuck!”

“Christine has him, it’s alright. You just need a break.”

McCoy heard Chapel from across the room,

“He’s fine, doctor, we’ll have him out in no time.”

As soon as the last syllable processed through his ears, Boyce kicked the door open and dragged him out through to the main sickbay, the pale room filled with empty beds beginning to close in on him.

The doors hissed shut behind him, trapping McCoy away from Jim, in someone’s else’s hands.

He was soon being led over to waiting chairs that were lined up against the wall from the operating room.

“Right, come on, sit down.”

McCoy gave him a fixed stare, licking his lips as he glanced down at the chair, as if sitting on it will burn his ass off. He stepped away from the offending object.

When Boyce sat down instead and gave him an inquisitive look, McCoy relented and sat down next to him.

 

 

There was a long beat of silence, before the doctor next to him spoke up.

“You’re worried about him. You know doctors shouldn’t operating on their friends.”

McCoy snorted in dismissive laughter, “He could be developing sepsis right now.”

The other doctor shook his head, “He’s absolutely fine. It’s your state of mind and shaking hands that are going to harm him.”

“Oh yeah? Because dragging me out the room mid-operation is sure to save his life!” he spluttered in disbelief.

Still, Boyce didn’t back down, “You’re overwhelmed, you’ve been through a lot, so has he. I can fix him up, but you need to promise you won’t go back in there until I’m done, otherwise I’ll have no choice but to call on the security guards.”

Instantly, McCoy shot up from his chair and stepped away defensively, “The hell are you talkin’ about? Boyce—!”

“Sit down.”

“Phil!”

“ _Listen to me_. Your shaking hands would nick an artery, and you’d lose your license,” Boyce offered softly, “Just let us fix him and we’ll bring him straight back to you.”

Swallowing hard, McCoy drew in a sharp shaky breath and nodded; he wasn’t sure if he was angry or upset or scared. He felt like the only person in the world that could save Jim was him.

_What am I, five?_

“Now I’ve gotta go back in there and start, don’t take this the wrong way, but do you want a sedative?”

 

If McCoy were allowed to slap a member of his staff, he would.

 

“No, dammit! Just…get in there and fix him!”

Silently, Boyce nodded, standing up and giving him one more pointed stare, which clearly spelt _stay there and don’t follow me_ , then quickly strode around the corner and out of sight.

Only the sound of a hissing door was McCoy’s indication that Boyce had entered the OR.

 

* * *

 

 

Spock felt the muscles in his neck grow tighter as the prisoner behind the glass, Lieutenant Farlow, did nothing to aid him in his mission to find out what he did to Kirk.

But he would get what he wanted, one way or another.

“So? Spock? How is the blondie then?”

He furrowed his eyebrows in disgust, “You may refer to him as the _Captain_. His condition is not your business.”

The prisoner just seemed to get annoyed at him, tightening his fists as if he was generally concerned. Humans were so confusing. Why attempt to murder someone and then worry if they are not well?

Farlow hissed to the glass window, “You _will_ tell me his condition, or I won’t tell you how he got there.”

So, he did know about it then. No doubt he is the one that caused it.

“I will not negotiate with murderers.”

The prisoner snorted. “I’m not a murderer _yet_ , pointy, he’s not dead at the moment.”

Spock set his jaw in place, very tempted to give into an illogical temptation to walk into the containment area and force the information out of him.

Farlow smirked, “Bet you don’t care though, probably only want to get the reason down for your paperwork.”

He stared at him challengingly.

“Isn’t that all you care about? Paperwork? I’m right, aren’t I? Boy it’s difficult to piss you o—”

Spock couldn’t stop himself from opening the containment field and ramming himself into the prison cell, forcing the prisoner up against the wall with a firm hand around their neck, behaving like some illogical low-grade emotional human.

Farlow choked out a laugh, “G-god, you sure have a firm hand.”

Spock snarled, nearly nose-to-nose with the guy, “You will tell me what you did with the Captain.”

Another chuckle, “I threw him off the engineering deck, you know thaaa—!”

Spock’s grip tightened around Farlow’s throat, challenging him to keep teasing him with the untold information.

“Alr-ri-gh!” Farlow’s eyes grew wide as his struggle started to set into him, before Spock released his grip and watched satisfied and the man collapsed against the wall onto the floor.

Spock dropped onto his knees beside him, uncaring of how un-vulcan-like he looked; he needed to make the man feel trapped.

“I told him…ugh…fuck…” Spock waited impatiently as Farlow tried to reassert himself. “I told him if he didn’t do what I told him to, then I’d get the Klingons on your asses.”

Spock scowled, “What did you ask him to do?”

Farlow only smiled.

In an uncontrollable rage, Spock rammed Farlow against the wall, which wasn’t too hard considering they were both kneeling on the floor now, his fingers pressing forcefully against the writhing man’s face, trying to establish an unconsented mind-meld.

Spock felt Farlow’s hands flailing as he tried and failed to pull his arms away, but the grip loosened, and the other man’s muscles fell slack as the meld took hold.

_Sacrifice yourself, Captain._

 

Hundreds of images suddenly rocketed through his mind, from Farlow’s point of view—his anger towards Kirk, the bitter taste of blood as he bit his tongue attempting to resist the temptation of pulling the trigger—the satisfaction felt when Kirk grimaced in pain as—a hypospray—collided with Jim’s neck, before he pushed the Captain off the balcony and watched him fall.

_If you don’t kill yourself, and I don’t care how, I’m gonna spill all of Starfleet’s secrets to the Klingons, and it’ll be your fault. Your whole crew dead, Federation planets invaded and destroyed, and only **you** will have to answer for it. Nine hundred and sixty billion people. Dead. Your fault.  
So, what are you gonna do? Sacrifice yourself, or not?_

 

 

He abruptly broke contact with Farlow, staring at the man’s unconscious form sprawled over Spock’s knees, a result of the forced mind-meld no doubt, before he stood up and briskly left the cell.

 

* * *

 

_Real Time Vitals—Patient: James Kirk.  
BP: 90_

_BP: 95_

_BP: 90_

_BP: 100_

_BP: 95_

 

“Hey.”

 

_BP: 90_

 

McCoy glanced up, to see Chapel had somehow been standing in front of him for only god knows how long, watching him staring at his PADD.

Jim’s med sensor was feeding back real-time vitals to his screen, and he was admittedly and understandably obsessed by it.

The minute he was wheeled back into sickbay, McCoy had attached the bracelet the second he could get his hands on him, afraid that he was going to suddenly die.

Chapel smiled at him, “He’s gonna be fine. Really.”

McCoy kept his blank gaze on her for a few more seconds before shaking his head, “You don’t know that, he could develop complications and flat-line at any minute.”

He expected Chapel to become irritated by his pessimistic view of Jim, but instead he felt her presence next to him, obviously having found a chair beside his.

“His liver is functioning normally thanks to the wonders of science. Now we just gotta wait for him to wake up.”

McCoy swallowed hard, he knew it wasn’t that easy. There _were_ complications.

“His kidney was dosed with an infection because of the cirrhosis in his liver, what if he goes into kidney failure?”

He glanced back down his PADD before it suddenly disappeared off to the side. Chapel had taken it from him.

“He can live with one kidney, we can just let him grow a new one.”

McCoy met Chapel’s gaze, “We’d have to take the old one out, that’s more surgery—and, dammit, I hesitated, Chris, what if he developed sepsis? What if he goes into MSOF?”

Anger began to pent up as he watched Chapel tried to supress a laugh, “You hesitated for ten seconds before someone else took over, it’s fine. His vitals are stable, his liver and both kidneys—in fact all of his organs are functioning, you can see that on his med sensor, his PADD and the monitors.”

McCoy bit his upper lip before reaching out to request his PADD back. She likely took it from him to stop him from obsessing over Jim’s vitals, but it was clear he needed it to reassure himself. He knew that, anyway.

_BP 110_

_BP 100_

“We did have to open him a bit further up to locate how far the infection spread though, so he might be in more pain than he anticipated.”

_BP 90._

“I’ll watch him,” he agreed.

_I’m not gonna stop watching him._

_I’m gonna sit here until I collapse._

“I’m sure you will. But you need to rest, something tells me you didn’t while we were operating.”

He remained silent. No, he didn’t rest, of course he didn’t. And he couldn’t now, Jim wasn’t awake yet. If he ever woke up.

“I’ll rest later,” he croaked, then instantly cleared his throat to pretend it was because of catarrh, and not because he was upset.

“Uh _huh_ ,” Chapel acknowledged, knowing he was lying but didn’t mention it.

 

_BP 105_

_BP 100…_

 

“He’s not just gonna flat-line on us. I promise.”

McCoy glanced up at her again, offering a fake smile and shrugging, “Chris, I need to be alone with him for a bit.”

His nurse thankfully nodded in understanding and left, drawing the curtains behind her to leave them both some privacy.

He breathed out a small sigh of both relief and worry, placing the PADD aside on Chapel’s now vacant chair and standing by Jim’s bedside.

He was on life support, just to help him a bit. When he woke up he’d have to deal with Jim panicking over the tube in his throat. And the tube in his nose. And in his arm—both of them.

Jim was pale, sweat-soaked through his hair so much that it was sticking to his forehead.

Carefully, McCoy avoided the tubes running across Jim’s face and brushed the hair off his forehead, to unstick it from his skin. Perhaps it would be an idea to get a cold compress to make him more comfortable.

A compulsive urge to check his vitals again tickled the forefront of his mind.

McCoy growled under his breath, gripping Jim’s wrist and lifting it to his line of sight, reading off the med sensor.

_BP 90._

_Perfectly god damn normal._

Pursing his lips, he dropped Jim’s wrist to his side again and decided to get Jim the cold compress he probably needed. Despite not being able to feel it…or perhaps he could. Who knows. It was known sometimes unconscious people could still hear and feel.

Running a hand through his unkempt hair, he strode over to the curtains and yanked them back—

 

“ _Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!”_

_Shit._

Spinning around instantly as a clusterfuck of alarms resounded in his ears, he marched back over to Jim’s side, glaring at the overhead monitors, then back to Kirk.

Jim eyes were wide, fearful, and clearly struggling to understand just what in the hell was going on.

Swiftly, McCoy whipped both his hands over Jim’s face and spoke to him smoothly.

“Jim? Kid, you’re in sickbay. Again. You’ve got something down your throat to help ya breathe, I’m gonna take it out now, alright?”

Wild blue eyes drifted upwards to meet his, but they were completely devoid of understanding and were embedded with terror.

“Okay, I need you to cough on three, alright? Okay? Cough on three. Ready?”

He saw Jim’s head nod slightly against the pillow, alarms still blaring loudly in his ears.

“Alright, one…two…three—”

As he pulled the tubing out of Jim’s mouth, the sound of retching and coughing filled the room, followed by soft moaning and terrified gasping.

“Hey, hey,” he muttered, dumping the contraption aside and returning to Jim, “You’re alright, you’ve just come out of surgery. Okay? You’re in sickbay. You’re alright.”

Jim licked his cracked lips, eyes darting around the room as if trying to make sense of the situation.

However, the alarms were still screaming loud and clear.

He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, causing him to turn back and face him, “Jim, you need to calm down, alright? These damn alarms are gonna make me deaf. Try n’ calm down. Just breathe slowly. In and out. Like me, okay?”

He demonstrated to Jim, and the blonde followed.

“Good. Real good. You’re doing real good. Okay…”

Jim eventually fell slack against the pillow, lips moving as if trying to say something, but nothing was coming out. Or perhaps he was mumbling to himself.

“Do you know what’s going on?”

Jim blinked slowly, his expression frozen as he silently tried to recall the events of the past few hours. It wouldn’t be too worrying if he couldn’t, loss of memory was quite common for people coming out of anaesthesia so soon.

“Stomach” Jim croaked, blue eyes locking with his for a few seconds before the gaze dropped down to his stomach. McCoy watched as Jim’s shaky fingers crept onto his stomach, pulling his gown back and patting at his skin.

“Yeah, your stomach. You ran away and scared me shitless for a whole day while going into liver failure,” he retorted with an honest smile, “Great job by the way, legging it from your doctor when you’re that close to dying.”

Jim gazed back up at him again, giving a brief smile which quickly turned into a grimace.

“You okay?” he asked, taking a step closer, “You in pain?”

Jim nodded slowly, his hands drifting over his stomach again, as if trying to favour his abdomen from the pain but not having the strength to do so.

It surprised him even more that Jim was actually _admitting_ to feeling pain. Obviously, he wasn’t quite awake yet.

Holding back the urge to check for the seventh time that hour if Jim was going into septic shock, he grabbed a vial of Selefenayn from the instrument tray and popped it into his hypospray.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jim watching intently as he lifted his wrist, the kid’s eyes bulging as he realised there was a hypo centimetres from his arm.

“No hypo” Jim croaked, licking his lips and tugging his arm away, “No hypospray.”

McCoy furrowed his brows, resisting the urge to make a sarcastic remark and instead encouraged him calmly, “This goes into your IV, not your arm. So, I can’t stab you with it, unfortunately.”

Jim’s eyes lit up like a child discovering its toes for the first time.

_Damn anaesthesia’s made him loopy._

“Not my arm,” Jim agreed, offering McCoy his wrist as if he had any choice in the matter.

He rolled his eyes, “I was just explaining as a courtesy, kid, I would’ve done it anyway,” and injected the vial’s liquid into the tube.

Jim watched intensely as it travelled down the tube and magically disappeared into his arm.

 

His face was something to behold.

 

“Where’d it go?” Jim asked with genuine sadness, his voice beginning to clear up a bit now that he was using it more.

McCoy smiled patiently, “In your arm, buddy,” he tapped the back of his hand for good measure.

Jim lifted his arm and started inspecting it from all angles, leaving McCoy to wonder why the vast medical world never made advances to stop the mind from reacting oddly to anaesthesia.

Although, the more he watched Jim, the reason became quite clear.

“It’s gone,” Jim announced proudly, but his face suddenly dropped a second later, which sent McCoy’s stomach dropping with it, “It burns…”

Damn it. That was normal.

“It won’t last long, just give it a—stop shaking your hand, you’re gonna pull out your—Jim—Jim stop—god damn it, Jim!”

The blonde gazed at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“But it’s burning…”

McCoy sighed, taking Jim’s hand in his own, “Give it a minute, it’ll stop burning. Then the pain will go, and you might start to feel tired.”

_I’m talking to him like I talk to my seven-year-old daughter._

He watched Jim’s face for any more signs of discomfort, but the pain-lines slowly began to fade away, his eyes un-squinting as if checking to see if it was safe to untense himself yet.

“Bones?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I go now?”

_Jesus H fuckin’ Christ._

 

* * *

 

 

Spock stormed down the Enterprise corridors like a man on a mission, receiving odd half-glances from crew members passing by. Had they not seen Kirk’s frequently increased pace when in a matter of emergency?

He didn’t care that he left that…disgusting excuse of a human being to die in that cell. If he _was_ dying. It was likely he would get into trouble for forcing a mind-mind upon a non-consenting human anyway.

Standing outside of sickbay, there was a brief second where his human side stood in the way of his logic, a brief anxiety that he frequently experienced when he was approaching the medical room.

However, he was not here to receive a physical, or was he due for a lecture from his kind doctor (as far as he knew). He was here to save Jim.

Stepping inside, he almost didn’t move out the way in time for the doors to shut, whilst trying to take inventory of the room. There was no Jim.

An outfitted human male approached, “Spock? Are you looking for McCoy?”

He blinked, pausing for a second to think this through. McCoy was very likely to be with Kirk, which meant there was less chance of a lecture. Although, it was very unlikely he _would_ give a lecture if he contained the answers to Jim’s problems. The mind-meld did have a cause for concern though…

“Spock?”

He glanced up, “Affirmative, I am looking for Doctor McCoy.”

The human smiled and gestured him to follow, “He’s with the Captain in a private room, I’ll show you in,”

 

Striding into the room, Jim’s frail figure was the first thing he lay eyes upon. McCoy standing in the corner of the room with his PADD and paying no attention to Spock was the second.

“Doctor,” he greeted, walking over and not taking his eyes off Jim, who seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, judging by how his eyes were fluttering open and shut, “How is the Captain?”

McCoy dragged his eyes away from his PADD and raised an eyebrow at him, “Spock. Thought you’d never come. Assumed you’d stop giving a shit or somethin’.”

Spock frowned, “Illogical doctor, if I did not care for the Captain, I would not be—”

“Still can’t take a joke, huh? That doesn’t matter, last time I saw ya you were lookin’ to get answers from that bastard Farlow, did’ja get anywhere?” he completed ignored his question.

Spock nodded, taking a moment to try and remember what he received from the meld.

“I…believe the Captain was drugged before his fall. I vividly saw a hypospray collide with his neck before he was pushed off the balcony.”

McCoy placed his PADD aside at that, and for some reason began hovering a tricorder over him, frowning.

“Doctor?”

“How the hell could you see him? You weren’t even in engineering at the time, Spock, you were on the bridge.”

Spock took a step back away from the doctor’s menacing tools. Clearly, he would have to make his mind-meld conundrum known.

“I admit to using…unorthodox methods to receive this information.”

McCoy pursed his lips, placing the tricorder back on the tray and folding his arms over his chest.

“You used a mind-meld,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“It was the only way.”

The doctor nodded slowly, then turned around and stared at the wall-comm for a few seconds, “What state did you leave him in, Spock?”

Ah, no doubt, he is about to receive a lecture.

“He…was unconscious, but I thought delivering the information to you as soon as possible was of the upmost importance.”

McCoy had stopped listening to him after _unconscious,_ and was now pressing buttons on the wall-comm.

“McCoy to sickbay, gonna need medical assistance down in the brig, and bring M’Benga.”

Spock nodded in agreement. Bringing Doctor M’Benga was a logical choice, as he was experienced with dealing with Vulcans, no doubt the best choice to deal with mind-melds.

“Acknowledged doctor, are you accompanying?”

“Negative, I’m staying here with the Captain and uh…Spock.”

“Very well. Boyce out.”

McCoy spun on his heel back to face Spock and gestured his chin upwards, “So, come on, what else did you see?”

Strange. There was no lecture.

“There…” Spock paused, unable to choose with how to say this, “Lieutenant Farlow appears to have purposefully embedded a…thought, in Jim’s mind, repeatedly telling him to end his life.”

McCoy’s head shot up from reading his PADD and glared daggers into Spock, eyebrows furrowed deep.

“End his _life?_ God dammit man, you could have started with that!” and the doctor raced back over to Jim’s side grabbing tricorders and scanners galore, “Where did he hit the hypo?”

Spock was unphased, “I believe it was his neck.”

McCoy hovered the various device with both hands over Jim’s head and neck, clearly hoping to find something show up.

“What is it that you are looking for?”

McCoy was silent for a few seconds before speaking up again, “Tryin’ to find what drug he hit him with. Looks like it’s been too long and it’s ain’t showing up on the scanners anymore. ‘Course it wouldn’t’.”

Spock tilted his head, “I believe I remember a word that may be of use, aca…rlin—”

“Acarlinum?” McCoy hurtled around on the spot and stared intensely at him.

“Affirmative.”

He heard the doctor swear under his breath, dropping the various scanners aside and plucking three vials from the tray of instruments and slotting them into his hypospray, “That’s a damn psychotic drug, it might still be in his system. Why the hell hasn’t it shown up on the blood reports…”

Spock took a step closer and watched curiously as McCoy whizzed back and forth from Jim’s bed and the instrument tray.

“Why does the Enterprise carry a stock of such a drug?”

McCoy shook his head rapidly, “We don’t stock it, he must have taken it from some damned black market kinda place,” the doctor then threw the instruments back on the table, looking wildly stressed for such a normally calm man in these situations.

“Do me a favour and get me an extra pair of hands in here,”

Spock was tempted to make another sarcastic retort along the lines of _illogical, for humans only have one pair of hands,_ before deciding now was not the time and strode to the wall panel, hitting the button labelled _emergency_ and hoping it didn’t set off any alarms.

It did.

He pulled his hand away at the sudden klaxons, rapidly looking for a button to turn it off again before he heard the door behind him hiss open.

“Don’t worry about it, Spock, but you best leave now to give us room to deal with him.”

Spock pursed his lips but nodded, quickly pacing past the incoming flow of staff members and walking out the door, grimacing as the alarms were even more piercing in the main sickbay, deafening to his sensitive ears. Even the main ship alarm weren’t as loud as this.

He exited sickbay in due haste, then decided to make off to the bridge and ask for a report from McCoy when he got there.

* * *

 

 

“Jim…”

_Go away._

“Come on kid, speak to me here…”

_No._

 

Jim was much happier, or _content_ considering his frustration, to sit and stare on his partially reclined bed at this particular pixel on his PADD. He didn’t care what his vitals were, but damn if he was going to look at Bones.

“Why the hell you suddenly so miserable? You were merrier than a five-year-old on helium a few minutes ago!”

Jim clenched his fists and glared at a different pixel on the screen, determined not to give Bones eye-contact.

“Jim?”

He sucked his cheeks in and blew out a forceful breath.

“I don’t know Bones, maybe because that drug you hit me with last night has finally worn off?” he swallowed hard, feeling his stomach tighten.

A few beats of silence…

“How much of that do you remember?” Bones' voice had softened.

Jim knew at this point he was visibly sweating, he could feel beads of it rolling down the side of his eyebrow.

“All of it,” he spat venomously, “I remember you restraining me to the bed, I remember screaming and crying while you ignored me, I remember you shoving that fucking mask onto my face and forcing it down, staring at me while I was silently pleading you to _stop_ , I remember you drugging my fucking self to sleep, I remember feeling suffocated and scared and terrified and confused and you just stood there…and looked at me…until I passed out.”

If he was assuming his rudeness meant for no reply, he certainly wasn’t expecting to get one.

“…I’m so sorry, Jim.”

_God, leave me the hell alone, you bastard._

“But you were dangerously ill. You weren’t lucid, you were in liver failure, you were vomitin' blood and running away from medical, I couldn’t just leave you in the vents to die, Jim.”

He tucked his PADD into his chest and rolled onto his side, away from Bones.

“You should’ve.”

He knew those two words were a dangerous thing to say to a man that saved lives. Still, he was angry and upset with him, he was allowed to react as such, wasn’t he?

“Don’t you dare say that to me ever again, Jim.”

Well, it was worth a try.

 

The silence was defeaning.

“Well…in other news, we found out that bastard Farlow had injected you with a psychotropic drug that made you hear things, behave strangely,” Bones informed him softly, trying to change the subject, “Now, I’ve checked, and it seems to be out of your system now, but I’m gonna put you on anti-psychotics for a few weeks, just in case.”

Jim scoffed.

“You’re already on a cocktail of stuff, which would explain why you’re suddenly actin' so angry—”

“I’m acting _angry_ because you forcefully sedated me against my will!”

Bones chuckled, “I do that a lot Jim, you avoid your physicals quite a lo—”

“Strapped down to a bed, fucking paralysed, with _your_ hands forcing a mask on my face that pumped those drugs into my system, while I lay there screaming and crying for you to stop!”

 

Finally, that shut him up.

 

He nervously reached for his PADD again, noticing his BP had spiked to 120. Bones no doubt knew that as well.

“What? What you gonna do, sedate me again because I’m angry? My blood pressure’s a bit high isn’t it? Perhaps you should restrain me to the biobed and drug me until you’ve had enough of my crying!”

“Jim, stop.” He could hear Bones’ voice shaking a little off to the side.

“No. No I won’t stop, because _you_ didn’t stop, did you? So, I won’t stop, either.”

“What I did was necessary. I had to save your life, Jim.”

“Jim, this, Jim that, it doesn’t fucking stop! What the hell else do you want from me? God!” Jim cursed to himself inwardly as he felt his tears pricking at his eyes, “You’re just trying to make me angry because you like to see me distressed. Well congrat-u-fucking-lations you son of a bitch!”

“Jim…”

“ _STOP SAYING MY NAME!”_

“Listen to me kid, you need to calm down—”

“Just _SHUT UP!_ Stop talking! I **_hate_** you! You’re a piece of actual shit, Bones, you know that? I fucking _hate_ you! I don’t ever want to see your face again! I—you know what, I’m getting you thrown off this ship, okay, I’m gonna throw you out an airlock, and—and I’ll be the one watching you begging and crying for me to stop, and I’ll watch, I’ll fucking watch—I’ll—I’ll—I’ll—I’ll—” he didn’t notice himself beginning to hyperventilate, or that his bed was being lowered flat.

What he did notice however, was a stark similarity to the events he was just reliving seconds ago.

A bright white ceiling, McCoy’s face lingering on top of him, mouthing words he couldn’t see—hyperventilating while Bones just stood there and watched, and then, once again, to his utter horror, a mask pressed over his mouth and nose, forcing those drugs into him again, as if for punishment, because Bones hadn’t tortured him enough, because Bones hated him now, because what he said was so bad he wanted to hurt him again—

“Jim, this is just to help you breathe, you’re hyperventilatin', calm down,” he heard Bones’ voice in the distance somewhere even though his face was right above him.

Jim cried out some small pathetic whimpers, like a stupid scared child, not a brave Captain.

“I promise, there’s no drugs. Slow deep breaths for me, okay? In for seven…and out for seven…okay? With me,”

Despite the utter hatred and confusion Jim was feeling, he followed McCoy’s voice, the southern drawl a comfort to him even now.

As he tried to do as Bones said, he was ashamed of himself when he couldn’t stop himself from scrunching up his face and squeezing his eyes shut, a stream of tears that just kept on coming, rolling from his cheek around the edge of the mask. One more thing that he couldn’t stop.

“It’s okay buddy, it’s okay,” he heard Bones murmur to the side, a hand on his shoulder.

Jim spluttered through a haze of tears, “I j-just w-wan-want it t-to st-st-sto-stop” and gasped a couple more times.

“I know, I know, and it’ll stop, I promise ya, kid.”

Jim licked his lips and blinked away a build-up of more tears, the hot liquid trailing down his cheeks. He felt so embarrassed. He didn’t know what was happening to him anymore.

To his relief, after another minute, Bones removed the mask from his face, placing it aside and immediately returning his attention to Jim.

“Alright?”

Jim nodded tiredly. He suddenly felt really weighed down from the outburst. His eyes were swollen from crying.

“It’s probably takin' that thick head of yours a while to adjust to the meds I have you on. It’ll get easier as time goes on.”

Jim sniffed up his clogged nose, releasing a shaky sigh and wiping his wet eyes with his hands.

“M’sorry, Bones…really sorry…”

God, he could fall asleep any minute.

He let his eyes close, exhaling as he felt a large hand on his forehead.

“S’alright. I know you are. It’ll get better, kid, I promise.”

The hand left his forehead, and he wearily opened his eyes when he heard the chair squeaking, watching Bones stand up.

“I need to go do the rounds before my nurses think I’m slacking,” a genuine smile from the grumpy southern doctor, “Get some rest, alright?”

Jim resisted the urge to say _yeah, I’ll try it without your help,_ but instead stuck with:

“I’ll try... thanks, Bones…” and shut his eyes again.

He vaguely felt a large hand squeeze his own, before drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Did you enjoy this piece of textual work? Do you desire it's continuation? It is only logical therefore to leave a kudos or comment.**  (please)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim gets a visit from a mysterious person with a second murder attempt, sending him into a medical crisis that even Bones struggles to cope with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Thanks so much for all the comments, it really is the only emails I look forward to haha, and like usual I'll reply to all of them.
> 
> I do think I'm gonna start finishing this up as I'm struggling with how to continue this/I'm losing interest/I have another idea. I'll do one more after this, then call it quits. Yeah? Yeah.  
> Love you guys, keep the comments and kudos coming <3

_“I need to go do the rounds before my nurses think I’m slacking,” a genuine smile from the grumpy southern doctor, “Get some rest, alright?”_

_Jim resisted the urge to say yeah, I’ll try it without your help, but instead stuck with:_

_“I’ll try... thanks, Bones…” and shut his eyes again._

_He vaguely felt a large hand squeeze his own, before drifting off into a peaceful sleep._

* * *

 

When Jim fell asleep last night, he was only exhausted and weighed down from his crying. Other than that, he felt alright, if not a bit angry.

But now, he felt as if he were in another world entirely. It wouldn’t surprise him, he was on a ship after all.

His muscles felt so limp that he was sure he’d been restrained to the bed again, but a quick—or sluggish— head tilt to the side dismissed that thought.

It was an effort to inhale and exhale, like the process itself required deep concentration.

Jim lay staring at the ceiling for at least ten minutes before a shadow loomed over him. It was nurse Chapel.

Christine smiled down at him, “How are you feeling, Captain?” she queried, absentmindedly grabbing equipment and rolling over machines to his bedside.

Jim shut his eyes.

“Mggh…” it was a struggle to even make his tongue move, every muscle in his body fatigued.

“That good, huh?” Jim felt a hand on his forehead, then heard a series of monotone beeps off to his right, “You do have a slight temperature. Can you squeeze my hand for me?”

Slowly, Jim forced his heavy eyelids to open again, glancing down at the nurse’s outstretched hand. His arm twitched, but he couldn’t muster the strength to do anything.

His eyes locked idly on his blanket; even moving his eyes to meet Chapel’s gaze was too much for him.

The sound of rustling from his blanket told him that the nurse had gave up and retracted her hand.

He shut his eyes again.

 

“I’m gonna get Dr McCoy back in here to examine you, alright?”

 

That caught his attention.

 

“…mmm…No…” he slurred, half-lidded eyes struggling to meet her gaze. Bones would fuss over him and never let him sleep again.

“ _Yes._ You don’t look very well. I’ll be right back,” and the sound of footsteps disappeared into the distance until the concentration required to continue listening the further away she got was too much for Jim’s body to keep up with.

His mind tuned in to the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor, vaguely realising it was slower than what he was used to in his usual trips to sickbay. Perhaps it was just his tiredness…

 

 

 

“Hey.”

 

“Jim, wake up, kid,”

 

_Crap, I fell asleep?_

 

There was a rough painful knuckle rubbing on his arm.

Jim groaned and pulled his arm away.

He was still so tired.

 

“Sleep…” he mumbled distantly.

 

“I need to take a look at ya, kid, open your eyes, I have better things to do y’know, like sleeping myself,”

 

Holding back a whimper, Jim’s eyelids drew themselves open with great effort, the soft vibration of his bed reclining him into an upright position.

His mind took a moment to readjust—he hadn’t seen anything other than the ceiling for a while.

Now partially reclined, Jim blinked slowly and tiredly, trying to find which doctor it was that was irritating him. There definitely wasn’t a person in front of him.

It could be Boyce, he had certainly heard his voice floating around when he was trying to sleep. Or it could be Chapel, she checked his vitals more than anyone else.

Except…

“ _Okay_ ,” he saw none other than Bones suddenly wheel in from the side, doing god knows what from behind his biobed, “You in any pain?”

“Mmm…no…” his mouth hated him for moving his lips. They were cracked and dry, and _god_ he could use some water.

He watched curiously as Bones whipped out a pair of gloves from the tray and wheeled closer, wincing as he snapped them on, obviously as loud as he possibly could to irritate him.

“Your vitals dipped around the middle of the night, you were awake around then too. You should’ve told me,” he lectured with a scowl.

Jim glared at Bones while he started pressing his fingers under his jaw, the doctor not meeting his gaze. His face had a frown of its own.

“Lymph nodes are swollen, you sure there’s no pain?” McCoy glanced up at the monitor, probably to check Jim’s pain levels for himself. He’ll be wildly disappointed when it’s within normal levels.

“M’fine…” he croaked, noticing how floaty he was feeling.

Bones looked like a figure in a dream, wheeling back and forth from his bed, poking and prodding to the point where Jim couldn’t even feel what he was doing anymore.

When Bones approached with a flat stick and stared at him, it took Jim several seconds to realise what he wanted before he opened his mouth.

His jaw protested the movement, along with his head, a migraine settling in. He moaned in distress while Bones did what he did best.

It was over quickly, Bones muttering a quiet apology as the instrument was removed from his mouth, snapping his jaw shut and shutting his eyes again.

 

_Go away…I want to sleep…_

 

“Well, I’m concerned, Jim. You have a high fever and there’s all the indications of infection.”

 

_I don’t care._

“I’m gonna lie you flat again and have a look at the incision site,” the bed was reclining back again before Bones had even finished his sentence, causing Jim’s brain to fly into the fight-or-flight response before settling down again.

Kirk’s mind wandered off after that, the flat position suddenly making the desire to sleep more powerful than he could care to stay awake for. Nothing felt real, he felt as if he were floating—was he even on a bed?

“Jim?”

_Ugh._

“Mghh…”

“I know it’s hard, but jus’ try stay awake for me, alright?”

“Mmm…”

A few moments later, and there was a sharp pinch in his arm.

For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to react; he remained half-lucid on his bed, trying in vain not to fall asleep.

His gown was pulled up—he could feel _that_ at least—a cool breeze on his belly before the warmth of gloved fingers began pressing down on his cold sweaty skin.

There were voices—more than one—off to the side.

_“He’s tachycardic at 220 and his fever has shot up since I woke him. I just took some blood, get it analysed.”_

_“Yes doctor. That wound looks to be normal doesn’t it?”_

_“Yeah, there’s no infection around the incision which is what confuses me. Jim?”_

_“Jim?”_

“Jim!”

Kirk’s eyes shot open with a gasp, his mind reeling as if woken from a nightmare.

“Hey…hey!—it’s alright, just wanted to make sure you didn’t fall asleep,” Bones explained with a worried smile, gently pressing Jim’s forehead back down to the pillow again. “You’re pretty damn, uh…dizzy, aren’t’cha? Well, try not to sit up, don’t want you passin’ out,”

Jim latched on Bones’ voice like an anchor, but he supposed that was the reason why he was talking so much in the first place.

The ceiling swam in circles, his eyes trying to find a spot to focus on but failing.

“Ugh…” he shut his eyes and groaned.

Everything went black.

 

 

And then he was awake again.

But it felt different.

Almost better, but not better enough.

 

Opening his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the rapidly moving figures around him. Several of them. At least three, but he couldn’t tell, they were so blurry.

Something was in his right arm—it hurt to move it.

Someone was touching his chest, and when he looked down, wires were trailing from it, across the bed. In fact, there were wires everywhere.

He tried to sit up, to see where the wires were coming from, but someone must have been standing behind his pillow as he was promptly slammed back down again, the hand remaining on his forehead for the foreseeable future.

His left arm felt tighter, and a quick side glance confirmed something was being wrapped around it. The opposite arm, the arm that hurt to move, began burning from his wrist and slowly up his arm. He tried to move it, but he felt too weak.

A knot formed in his stomach as anxiety began to build.

To no particular person, he tried to communicate,

“…Wha’s goin’ on?”

But the only noise he could hear since the second he woke up was a constant rushing sound.

Deciding the blurry figures weren’t here to help him, Jim gave up and shut his eyes.

Sleep came instantly.

 

* * *

 

 

“Jim? Jim! Dammit! Get me fifty ccs of Alcavatol,” McCoy quickly glanced up at Jim’s vitals.

_Temperature 39 C._

_Heart Rate 150._

Alarms bells in his head began ringing at the signs of sepsis.

“He’s septic, we need to flush him with broad-spectrum antibiotics—Chris, where’s the blood results?”

A hypo was pushed into the palm of his hand, which he quickly slammed into Kirk’s neck.

“Here, doctor,”

McCoy strode over to Chapel and peered at the results on her PADD.

“His wound is infected,” he proclaimed, rapidly shoving past his nurse and to Jim’s bedside. If there was an abscess, the kid would need to be taken back into surgery to get it drained.

Pulling Jim’s gown up and examining the incision for the second time, he gaped at a small lump that had formed under the wound and immediately grabbed his medical PADD.

Hovering the device over Jim’s abdomen, his eyebrows knit into a frown as he tried to decipher what to do with this. It was small, thankfully, so they had caught it early, but Jim stood more chance of surviving sepsis if it was drained.

He made his decision.

“Set up a sterile field and get me a basic surgical kit,” he ordered, ripping the rest of the kid’s gown off and throwing it away.

A soft blue glow appeared around Jim’s bed, and soon after, a tray with several instruments was pushed up next to him.

As he picked up a scalpel, the alarms above Jim’s bed suddenly made themselves known, howling out for attention as Jim’s vitals started deteriorating.

He swore internally and beckoned the second nurse over—Nurse Pastrel, who gowned him ready for the procedure.

“Have you set up the antibiotics?” he asked to Chapel, making eye-contact to let her know he was speaking to her.

She glanced up and nodded, gesturing to the IV stand that was now fitted with various vials, “I can increase the time of dosage to get it in him quicker, but there’s no telling how his sensitive immune system will react.”

_He’s dyin’ anyway._

“Do it, just get the damn medicine in him,” he pulled his mask up and pick up the scalpel again, “Making the incision now,”

As soon as his scalpel first sliced across bumpy skin, he realised Jim was never dosed with a local anaesthetic.

_Well shit, he’s probably gonna be unconscious the whole time anyway._

He watched the pus drain, satisfied that he was at least doing _something_ to treat Jim’s sepsis right now. Standing by and waiting for his body to react to the medicine came later, but at least now he could make a difference.

The alarms were still reverbing all four corners of the room though, meaning something still wasn’t right.

He stared at the open incision and turned to Pastrel hastily, “Get me 20ccs of Nedovelam,” he instructed, checking Jim’s vitals again and feeling his stomach sink when his resps had dropped even further, “Shit, what the hell is going on?”

Chapel quickly came by to aid him, strapping a mask to Jim’s face and whipping the hypo out of Pastrel’s hand as she was moving so slowly, “Where do you want it?”

McCoy snatched the hypo from her hands instead and hit it over the incision, releasing the medication into the wound. Hopefully it should stop another abscess from taking place.

It took seconds for him to wave the regenerator over the small cut and watch it heal, lacking any scarring thanks to his handiwork.

Stepping back and taking stock of Jim’s body, he swallowed hard when his mind began to process the state he was in.

Pale skin as white as a sheet, accompanied by a sheen of sweat covering Kirk’s entire naked body, beads of it dripping down Jim’s forehead.

The alarms were beginning to give McCoy a migraine, his head pulsing between his eyes.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he disabled the sterile field and stripped his gloves off, setting up another fluid line to replenish the fluids Jim was going to lose through all this sweating.

But damn it all if the universe thought he was going to lose him.

 

* * *

 

_“Well, Kirk, you tried, but Farlow isn’t going to be very happy.”_

_Jim opened his eyes. It was pitch black, although he was able to sense a presence around him, despite not being able to see anything._

_He furrowed his eyebrows and tried to focus on anything in the room, settling for a small hint of blue that radiated from his monitors._

_“Farlow…?” he croaked, his voice hoarse from lack of use, “Who’s here?”_

_He felt a deep whack on his chest by what could only be a fist, and nearly shrieked in pain before something clamped over his mouth._

_“Don’t make a sound. I’m trying to help you.”_

_Jim’s body trembled uncontrollably as he stared at the figure nose-to-nose with him. All he could see was different shades of black due to lack of light. He had no idea who this was._

_“You were told to sacrifice yourself, weren’t you?”_

_Jim was unable to form a reply both from shock and having a hand clamped over his mouth, but shakily managed to nod._

_“And, are you dead?”_

_He shook his head, breathing harshly through his nose in panic._

_“Exactly. So, before Farlow comes back and makes good on his deal, I’m gonna kill you, for you. Is that alright?”_

_Jim released a strained worried moan, frozen to the spot in terror, but didn’t want to say yes, because he didn’t want to die._

_“Glad to hear it. Goodnight, Jim.”_

_The hand was timidly released from his mouth, as if waiting for him to scream, but his body wouldn’t obey him._

_In the distance he saw the IV stand lights turn on, fingers dancing over the multicoloured vials, the sound of a click as a new one was slot into place, before he felt hot burning running up his arm._

_The lights from the IV stand faded to black again, and Jim soon felt his body sag back into the pillow, unable to move a muscle, as if he were paralysed._

_“But just in case this doesn’t work,” he heard someone hiss into his ear, making him jump, “I’ll make sure you forget.” Their breath was warm, sending cold goosebumps down Jim’s skin._

_Soon, there was a sharp bite to his neck, the tell-tale sign of a hypospray released. His eyesight slowly faded to nothing, and he began to feel like he was dreaming._

_Then there was nothing._

 

* * *

 

 

Ugh.

 

It was the first thought that entered his brain upon reaching consciousness. Again. He hoped to whatever deity was out there that he could stay awake and lucid for more than three minutes.

 

His muscles were fatigued, unresponsive and limp, but he had been drooling, and he could feel the wetness of the saliva that had pooled out the corner of his lip and onto the pillow.

Opening his eyes was a lot easier this time, it came naturally, like blinking. However, his arms and legs were just too weak to move.

 

Jim took stock of himself.

There were still thin tubes coming out of both his arms, and wires trailing off of his chest that continued from his line of sight.

This time, he noticed there was a strange sensation on his neck and thigh. It felt comparable to glue, but he couldn’t move himself enough to see. A blanket had been draped across his right thigh, exposing his legs for the world to see.

“Bones?”

He tried to ask for his friend, the first person that had came to mind.

Bones knew what was happening, he would explain everything.

But alas, calling his name did nothing, for there was no figure running into his empty white room.

“Bones!” he croaked a little louder, hoping he was in the room with him. He wasn’t sure if he was able to shout loud enough for someone to hear outside closed doors.

He swallowed instinctively, turning his head to see if his friend was there.

He wasn’t.

“Bones…” he repeated, mostly to himself, idly noticing the heart rate monitor cranking up a faster rhythm.

The quicker pace of his heart rate made him breathe faster, which caused his heart to speed up even more to keep up, leading his breathing to escalate into hyperventilating.

Soon, he was unable to hear the beeping of his monitors as it was overtaken by a three-beep-rhythm alarm.

_Beep-beep-beep…beep-beep-beep…beep-beep-beep…_

Jim began to wonder if his heart was only beating three times every five seconds, but the thought was whisked away by the swooshing of his door opening.

Bones.

“Bones!” Jim cried more childishly then he cared to admit, not realising how scared he was until his friend had finally came into the room.

“Jim!” the man himself looked more terrified than Jim was, _sprinting_ into the room and skidding beside his bedside, eyes wildly looking over Jim’s vitals.

Jim’s hand found itself flailing to find his friend, fatigue be damned, he pulled and tugged at the man’s white shirt, the fabric silky and cool to his touch.

McCoy finally broke eye-contact with the machine and glanced down at Jim with eyes more frightened than the blonde’s own, as if waiting for something horrid to happen.

“Wha’s wrong?” Jim slurred, his arm giving into the fatigue and dropping limp onto the blanket again.

The fast-paced beeping of his heart eventually slowed down, which seemed to have a positive effect on the doctor as his tense face relaxed.

“Ah...nothing I can’t handle, Jim,” Bones dismissed, apparently satisfied with his vitals now. He began pulling up a chair and rolling to Jim’s bedside.

For a second, Jim thought he was actually about to have a conversation with his friend, but he knew he’d hoped too soon when Bones just whipped out a PADD seemingly out of nowhere.

Once again, the device was hovered over his limbs, particularly the areas that had the tubes stuck to them.

“Handle what?” Jim tried, knowing it was probably something to do with him. Count on Bones to keep Jim safe from the bad news that was obviously eating at him.

McCoy glanced up from his PADD for a second without changing his expression, “It doesn’t matter, kid. Lemme finish this before you start askin’ questions,” and the soft variously pitched beeping began again, McCoy’s eyes glued to the screen.

Annoyed, Jim threw his head back against the pillow and glared up at the ceiling. All he wanted was a conversation with his friend. He was pretty lonely, being stuck in here, constantly passing out and waking up with no time sense.

In fact, what _was_ the time, let alone the date?

“It’s Tuesday, and it’s 1600 hours,” Bones murmured from his hunched over position.

_Oops, I said that out loud?_

Jim was about to ask how long he had been here for, before Bones released a heavy sigh and placed his PADD aside. To his surprise, Bones then rested his elbows on his knees and lay his head in his hands.

It was a distressing sight, to see a man so confident and proud with his work to now be resorting to the head-in-hands act.

After a moment, Jim summoned his sweaty hand and lay it upon Bones’ head, to get his attention.

“What’s wrong?”

Bones dragged his face above his fingers and exhaled forcefully through his nose.

“I could ask the same question to you, kid.”

Jim frowned, “I feel a little better now, I’m talking and lucid, aren’t I?”

The CMO smiled, “Yeah, you are. But I’m not sure how long that will last, you’re very sick.”

Jim shifted his body on his side to face Bones, trying not to bump the tube attached to his thigh,

“How sick?” he didn’t feel sick. He was tired, sure, he had a headache, sure, but other than that he was actually okay. “C’mon, Bones, I’ve a right to know.”

Bones rolled his eyes and sat up in his chair, retrieving his PADD from the table he left it on a minute before and passed it to Jim.

“These are the scans I have of your internal bodily functions. Your uh…incision site got infected, god knows by what, you developed sepsis. You’re actually in septic shock right now.”

Jim’s breath caught in his throat, staring wide-eyed at his doctor.

That was serious. Why was he still awake?

“You feel fine because I’ve got you on a cocktail of drugs to make you more comfortable. If you want the truth, your kidney has began failing again.” Then Bones took a breath, rubbing his face in his hands, “Multiple organ dysfunction. I don’t know what’s causing it.”

Jim stared at the PADD; there were diagrams and charts and words that looked like medicines, but he didn’t understand a word of what any of it meant.

He did assume “organ” and “dysfunction” in the same sentence wasn’t good, though.

“Are you in pain?”

Jim glanced up from the PADD and tossed it onto the blanket.

“No, but…” he violently began kicking the blankets off of his legs, much to McCoy’s manic concern, “What the hell’s this?”

“Dammit Jim! Don’t dislodge the damn tubes!” Bones made a beeline to check Jim’s legs.

“But why are there tubes everywhere? And what…” he put his hand up to his neck, feeling the strange contraption on his throat, “…is this?”

Bones pursed his lips and leaned closer, pressing fingers on Jim’s neck as if the question was an invitation to start another physical.

“It’s to tell me if your lymph glands become swollen, or if your throat swells shut.”

Jim grimaced, “Peachy.”

That meant there would likely be an alarm to signify his imminent doom.

Pulling away from the doctor’s invasive fingers, he shuffled onto his side and tapped his thigh with the object on it as well.

“What’s this?” he queried.

Bones wheeled down the opposite end of the bed and got his large hands all over Jim’s hips now. It was beginning to irritate him.

“I did a bone biopsy to rule out infection of your hipbone. Came up naught, as I assumed.”

Jim frowned and began picking at the taping on his thigh, “But why does it ache?”

He saw Bones grimace out the corner of his eye then, wheeling over to his IV tray, no doubt to start planting more drugs in there because he felt a slight _ache._

“I had to use a bone drill to get in there,” he just explained nonchalantly, as if he did it every day, “No other way.”

Jim was sure his face just went as green as his Vulcan first officer, “You…drilled into my hip?”

Bones wheeled back over and offered a fake smile, “I’m a surgeon, Jim, a trauma surgeon at that, I knew what I was doing.”

Jim frowned, “I don’t doubt that you do…I just…” he placed a hand on his hip and stared at it wordlessly. “It sounds…scary.”

_What am I, five?_

_It comes with the job…_

“It was scary to do it, Jim. You were unconscious and in septic shock, near death, and I couldn’t for life of me figure out why. I knew there was an infection but even after removing the abscess on your incision, alarms were still blaring.”

Jim dropped his gaze to his hands, “I don’t remember you doing it…”

“Of course you don’t. Like I said, you were unconscious.”

“Did it hurt?”

“If you were awake you would’ve been screaming than a new-born fawn, but for the third time; you were unconscious, so no.”

“How did you do it?”

Bones sighed. Clearly, he was getting annoyed with him. Or perhaps making him relive the moment wasn’t boding well for him.

“I had you on your side, I drilled far enough into your hip to get a biopsy sample of the inner bone, I remove said drill and sutured the incision. Then I taped your whole thigh because I knew you’d just peel it off.”

Jim dug his nails into the tape and grinned widely, “So cool,” he murmured, despite the fact the thought of it made him feel sick.

“Uh huh. Only _you_ would think it was cool, you machoistic infant.”

Jim looked at his hip for a while longer, then touched it to see if it still hurt four seconds after his last try.

It did, strangely enough.

He blanched at the pain, but glanced back up to Bones, “I wanna sit up.”

McCoy scoffed, wheeling his chair back and standing up, causing Jim to frown and fold his arms over his chest.

“I need to do a couple more checks, then we’ll see.”

 _We’ll see_ usually meant _yes but I’m not gonna agree to bolster your ego bigger than it already is._

Jim grinned brightly, a welcome sight to the doctor who was now used to seeing him either unconscious or upset. There was no doubt that one of the drugs in his ‘cocktail’ included an antidepressant of some sort.

Bones pulled Jim’s gown up to his chest, before sitting down and adjusting the overhead light above the wound to examine it.

Jim was tempted to squirm into himself and crawl away at the scrutinising inspection, but remained still in order to be allowed to sit up and fake the image of health.

The second Bones put a finger on Jim’s incision site, the kid jerked back and inhaled sharply— _fuck that hurt._

Bones retreated immediately, “That hurt? I’ll up your meds,” and wheeled over to the IV stand.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and moaned, “Nooo…no more meds!” he complained loudly, “Too many meds…I just wanna stay awake!”

“Relax, this won’t put you to sleep. The painkillers are probably wearing off now anyway,” Bones started resetting the vials on his IV stand.

Jim sat up on his elbows and glared at him swapping vials on the IV stand over, “But what if I—”

_“You were told to sacrifice yourself, weren’t you?”_

“Jim?”

 

_“Before Farlow comes back and makes good on his deal, I’m gonna kill you, for you. Is that alright?”_

 

Jim’s eyes fixated on the IV stand, his heart galloping away in his chest.

 

_“But just in case this doesn’t work,”_

 

He vaguely felt someone shove his body back down flat onto the bed, rubbing their knuckles over his shoulder, but the outside world was empty.

 

_“I’ll make sure you forget.”_

“Jim? Come back to me buddy, it’s alright, what’s wrong?”

 

“Bones—” he choked on his own saliva.

 

_“Glad to hear it. Goodnight, Jim.”_

“Bones!” he cried out, hands flailing here there and everywhere for something to latch onto. Vaguely he felt a warm embrace, someone squeezing him, rubbing his back. He exhaled shakily as his mind drifted from reality to dream, unsure of what was happening to him.

“I’m right here, I’m right here. You’re okay. M’ right here…”

A hand grasped his, pulling Jim’s dissociated mind back down to reality.

 

All at once, the fuzziness of the walls of reality collapsed, and just like that, he was back on his ship, in sickbay, in Bones’ embrace.

“S’alright. You’re okay now.”

Jim clasped his hand over McCoy’s shoulder, trying to signify that he was home now but was too startled to talk.

He was pulled away gently from his friend’s shoulders, his breaths still coming in trembling small gasps, Bones eying him up and down.

Bones grabbed Jim’s chin and gently tilted it up to face him.

“You okay?”

He was clearly not, but it was a nice gesture.

“Remembered,” he murmured, pushing Bones shoulder to get him to move out the way.

When he didn’t, Jim started manoeuvring himself onto his knees and tried to sit up.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell are you doin’?” he scowled, grasping Jim’s shoulders himself and attempting to push him back down flat on the bed.

Jim shook his head as he tried to roll over, “Remembered something.”

“Yeah, that’s great, but you can’t be sittin’ up right now.”

“But you said I could later!”

“I was lyin’ to make you happy. Now _stay there_ ,” his eyes hardened to emphasise his point, “What did you remember?”

Jim finally met Bones’ gaze and curled his toes, his heart still thudding in his chest so hard it was beginning to hurt.

“Farlow…he did something, m’can’t remember what,” he lied, not wanting to talk about it.

Bones continued staring daggers into his eye-sockets until that concerned expression was wiped off his face by Jim’s fake grin.

His doctor was unphased, “Stop tryin’ to hide stuff from me, kid, what really happened?”

Jim clenched his jaw.

“Nothing.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“I don’t want help, Bones.”

“You might not want it but you sure as hell need it.”

Jim swallowed hard when he began to notice pain in the back of his throat from holding in his emotions.

“I don’t want to talk about it, _please, Bones_ ,” he pleaded, wringing his hands together.

Bones continued a scrutinising stare for a while longer, before resuming his endeavour, “Jim, I’m well aware that that bastard Farlow tried to get you to kill yourself.”

 

Bones’ words felt like a kick to Jim’s stomach

 

“You…you know?” he spluttered, aware he was fidgeting with his hands but couldn’t care to stop, “What…who the hell told you?”

Bones’ expression softened, “Yeah,” he breathed, “Spock told me. He did that Vulcan mind-meld thing with Farlow and found out that way,” he gently pressed a hand to Jim’s shoulder to get him to lie back, “I’m guessin’ this is what you’re so damn stressed about?”

Jim closed his arms around his chest at the fluttery feeling in his stomach, “I just had a weird dream, is all.”

His friend wasn’t buying it, “Dammit man—Jim, you were talkin’ to me then spaced out, tell me what happened!”

Was he ever going to give up?

“Bones…” Jim was about to come up with another excuse but stopped in the face of a penetrating stare. “Shit…fine.”

_How the hell can I say this?_

_I don’t wanna put it into words._

_Why can’t he just mind his own damn business?_

“It was kinda like a flashback,” he slowly began, watching McCoy’s face for any change of emotion, “He just came up to me, told me Farlow was gonna be pissed because I wasn’t dead yet…” he paused and took a moment to gather himself, McCoy’s eyes still staring holes into him, “Told me he was gonna do me a favour and kill me himself—”

“How?” Bones interrupted sharply.

“…Uh, he started messing with those vials,” he pointed at the IV stand at the end of his bed, but McCoy had already shot up from his seat and stormed over to the object in question.

“Then what?” his doctor asked, inspecting every single vial on the tray with a tricorder.

Jim took another deep breath.

“I felt dizzy, he told me he’d make sure I wouldn’t remember, just in case. I couldn’t see shit, but there was a…weird sting to my neck and I can’t remember anything else.”

For a second, he thought Bones had stopped listening, the man was fixated with the IV stand.

 

“Bones?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me a sec,”

 

Jim blinked, then shuffled onto his side again, his hip beginning to ache.

Should he start picking the taping off to see what the wound looked like? He was curious.

 

“He must have used a memory suppressant, assuming you’d be dead before it wears off,” Bones babbled, but Jim had stopped listening. The tape was getting really itchy now. “This must be what caused the systematic organ failu—…are you listening to me?”

Jim dragged his eyes away from his hip and glanced up at his doctor, “Uh huh?”

McCoy must have known he was lying as he just rolled his eyes, “Do ya remember which vial it was?”

Well, the IV stand was lit up different colours and he remembered the orange one being switched out…

“Orange?”

Bones frowned, but his eyes lit up in realisation, “ _Oh_ , the _orange_ vial, right,” and spun back around to scan it again.

 

Jim reverted his gaze back to the taping on his hip, discreetly picking at it with his nails, waiting for the ends to flick up so he could peel it off.

“When can I take this off?”

Bones looked up from his tricorder and jerked his chin up, “Tomorrow, perhaps…hey, did that sting feel like a hypospray?”

Jim rubbed his palm roughly over the taping in frustration— “Yep, I’d recognize it anywhere. If the voice didn’t sound so adamant on killing me I would’ve thought the wielder was you,”

“Well…there’s no trace of it left in any vials, the bastard must have caused the organ failure with just a litre,” Bones explained, while Jim peeled off the taping and admired his wound.

Bones continued, “But just in case, I’m gonna—Jim!” he saw the exposed wound, “What the hell are you doin’!”

The blonde squirmed back, “It was itchy,” he replied innocently.

Bones scoffed, “It was itch...” he trailed off and shook his head, “You moron. Lie back, I’m gonna run a regenerator over it before it gets infected like every other damn wound in your body.”

Satisfied that the incision apparently wasn’t going to get re-taped, Jim flopped back onto the pillow with a wince—damn he forgot even slight pressure made his hip hurt.

 

There was one thought that stuck to the back of his mind through the whole procedure, causing the usually talkative Captain to remain placid and contemplative.

Someone had obviously been in the room with him, and drugged him with a chemical that caused him to go into organ failure.

 

But if Farlow was still in the brig, then who was it?

 

* * *

 

 

 **Did you enjoy this piece of textual work? Do you desire it's continuation? It is only logical therefore to leave a kudos or comment.**  (please)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim decides charging onto the bridge before learning how to walk again is a great idea, meanwhile Spock thinks he's in trouble for performing an unconsented mind-meld.

**Final chapter. Finally.**

**It might feel rushed and unfinished...but that's because I'm sick of this story personally and I don't want to leave it hanging unlike some people, lol.  
I just want it to be done with, I hope you understand.**

**I'll be making a new one in a few weeks time, and don't worry it's another angsty whump-filled fic about Kirk hahaha. I don't know if you can follow people on here but if you can then feel free to do so to watch out for it.**

* * *

 

_Someone had obviously been in the room with Jim and drugged him with a chemical that caused him to go into organ failure._

_But if Farlow was still in the brig, then who was it?_

* * *

 

Jim crossed his arms against the mother-henning of his doctor,

“Boooones!”

McCoy waved his tricorder over Jim’s stomach for what felt like the tenth time that minute.

“You’re not standing ‘til I’m sure you’re not passin’ out on me.”

Jim narrowed his eyes and slumped back on the bed, waiting eagerly for Bones to finish pestering him.

Today would be the first time he walked in weeks.

“Now remember,” Bones prompted him while he tucked his tricorder away, “Little steps. Just to the end of the room and back,” he instructed him, Jim watching as McCoy started pressing a sequence of buttons, “Then you’re gonna eat something.”

Jim frowned while the bed began to raise, “But I thought you said my levels are back to normal or something?” he whined, detesting the idea of eating.

Bones rolled his eyes, “And you’re severely underweight. Do you want an IV stuck in your arm for the rest of your life?”

When the bed stopped moving, Jim spared no hesitation swinging his legs over the bed, before McCoy stopped him, a hand on his left shoulder.

“Easy, Jim,” he reminded him, but Jim continued hauling his body upright, “I said easy. Take it slow or you’ll faint.”

Jim grumbled under his breath as McCoy steadied him, “I’m not gonna faint.”

Bones snorted, “You faint at the slightest drop of blood pressure, surprised you don’t pass out more on missions,” then he quickly added with a pointed accusing finger, “And that’s _not_ a challenge, so don’t you go gettin’ any smart ideas.”

Jim smirked, walloping both of his hands onto Bones’ shoulders with a grin.  “Let’s go!”

* * *

 

Spock stared stoically at the transmission screen on the table, willing for it to turn on.

He knew what this ‘confidential meeting’ was about and wished the admirals would just, ‘get it over with’, as humans so frequently call it.

Logic dictates that his unconsented mind-meld he forced upon the Lieutenant Farlow would raise suspicion upon the admirals, that he was unable to control himself in hostile situations and proved dangerous to those around him.

He was quite sure he was getting… _sacked_.

But what was done for Jim was necessary, and without it, Jim had a probability higher than Spock wished to count that would’ve resulted in his death.

That would not happen now. Dr McCoy knew exactly what was wrong with Kirk and was treating him as such. In fact, if Spock hadn’t had got that information about the drug Farlow injected Jim with, it was likely he would’ve died of sepsis.

Instead, he was taking his first steps today. It was unfortunate he would not be there to witness it.

Not like he wanted to, that was of course a human desire—

 

“Mister Spock.”

 

Spock blinked, somehow managing to miss the screen turning on. He was clearly very distracted, he must remind himself to meditate after this conference.

“Admiral,” he greeted to the woman on the screen whom he recognised as Admiral Tenete.

She nodded to him, “There are multiple things I must inquire about, but I presume the absence of your chief medical officer means he’s busy and not disobeying me?”

“Indeed. He is assisting Kirk with walking.”

“I see,” the woman seemed to pull out a PADD distractively while paying no attention to the update of Jim’s current state, “And what of the Lieutenant?”

“He is still in the brig, following his release from medbay with a suspected full recovery,” Spock confirmed, subtly wishing the Lieutenant would’ve died on the spot instead of simply passing out after the mind-meld. Such thoughts were illogical, but then again, so was Jim.

The admiral nodded, eyes still glued to the screen, “Alright, and you do have your instructions of what to do once you get here?”

Spock gave a curt nod, “Affirmative. Release the Lieutenant to Starfleet Command and await my trial.”

Tenete pulled her eyes away from her PADD for a second to look up, “Commander, there is no trial.”

 

What?

 

Clearly, he must have misheard her.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

There was a sigh, “Commander, you are not being court-martialled for your actions,” she said, to Spock’s surprise, “Your Captain would have died had you not intervened, regardless of the method you chose. What other choice did you have?”

Spock suddenly began to feel uncomfortable.

He had assaulted a crew-member—who had attempted to murder the Captain no less, but still, it was an attack.

“I assailed a member of Starfleet. That is always justified with a court-marshal.”

“This was an exceptional circumstance,” the woman reassured him, “In light of recent events, once the Captain is able to resume command, you are on temporary leave for two months, but that’s largely so there’s no uproar.”

Spock blinked, “I am to leave the Enterprise for two months?”

This time there was laughter, “No, no, commander! You are simply off duty. Make yourself useful in any other way you can think of, but you are relieved of duty for two months.”

Spock stared at the screen in disbelief for a while longer, before realising he was suspiciously close to reacting the way humans would in moments of surprise.

“I see,” he finally acknowledged, slightly relieved there was no justice system he had to go through, “And the Captain?”

“Captain Kirk is set to recover on the Enterprise also. If he is of sound mind according to your CMO, then he has the choice between acting first officer, from either Hikaru Sulu or Montgomery Scott. But until he can resume his duty, you’re in command.”

Spock nodded; either of those choices would be suitable for the position, however, Sulu would likely be best choice as Scott would need to oversee engineering, and there was unlikely to be a replacement as high-skilled as he in the area.

He thought the conversation was over, but the admiral spoke up again.

“There is another matter that I am concerned about, commander, regarding the person who had attempted to assassinate the Captain.”

Spock frowned, “Lieutenant Farlow is in the brig.”

“No,” the admiral shook her head, “There is another. Your science officer, Ensign Chowdry, who works under you, was also involved in the incident.”

A skyrocketing eyebrow from the Vulcan.

_How curious._

_And yet, so repulsive._

“I was not aware the Lieutenant had an assistant.”

“Lieutenant Commander Montgomery Scott send Starfleet Command the security feed from Kirk’s medical bay at the time his vitals took a turn for the worst. There was in fact another officer, Ensign Chowdry, who switched his vials around. Doctor McCoy figured out the latter.”

Spock nodded, wondering why so many people on board his Jim’s starship, where crewmen were always so loyal to one another, were attempting to murder their Captain.

“I take it they have been apprehended?” Spock asked her.

She nodded, “Yes, they will also be dishonourably discharged from the fleet and will stand trial when they arrive at the nearest Starbase.”

“And following the two-month period, will another conference be held?”

The admiral waved him off, “No, this is the last you’re gonna hear of this. Well done, Commander.”

Spock was confused as to why the admiral was congratulating him. He had commit a crime against the Federation and was now being relieved of duty for two months.

“I will inform the doctor of your decision.”

She nodded, “Very well. Safe travels, Commander.”

The transmission screen distorted and faded to black as the signal was lost, leaving Spock to stare at the empty screen.

What was he gonna do with himself for _two months?_

 

* * *

 

 

“Jim!”

The damn idiot had catapulted down the corridor, obviously having a surreptitious death wish.

“Get back here, you idiot!”

The blonde stopped running, slumping himself against the wall, with that shit-eating grin on his face.

“The hell did I tell you? I said to the end of the room and back, not three corridors away from sickbay!”

From McCoy’s trained eye, he could see the perspiration dripping from Jim’s forehead, sweat caking his skin and producing a moist glow. Still, the kid was beaming, clearly proud of himself.

He whipped out a tricorder and began scanning Jim while he fumbled with excuses, as per usual.

“I’m obviously ready to leave, Bones, why do I have to stay?”

McCoy snorted and shook his head.

_‘Cos your damn vitals are still spiking five times your normal amount, that’s why._

“You’re not ready yet. What if the ship falls into crisis and you struggle to keep up?”

Jim inhaled deeply, “Then Spock can take over, that’s what he’s there for.”

McCoy didn’t look up from his tricorder, “ _No_ , he’s there to help you make decisions, not pick up your slack because you’re passing out every ten minutes,” he glanced up to find Kirk frowning at him, “It’ll look bad on ya, kid.”

Jim however, pushed himself up from the wall and began walking elsewhere.

“Where the hell are you goin’ now?” the kid was now trapezing down to the turbolift, and inwardly McCoy wondered how long he could keep going until he collapsed.

“To the bridge!” Jim announced in sing-song voice. If he were any happier, he’d be skipping like a dainty seven-year-old.

“No, Jim, you need to take it slow. Come back to sickbay and we can go to the bridge later,” he tried, walking the opposite way to prove his point, knowing his attempts to settle the adventurer would be futile.

“You can come with me, it’ll be okay,” Jim reasoned, slipping through the doors to the turbolift as they swooshed open.

With a sigh, McCoy stepped in with him, tucking his tricorder away and deciding to watch Jim like a hawk.

The moment he started to sway, he was gonna tackle the kid to the floor before he could blink in reaction. Or sedate him before he could complain.

Whatever came first.

Jim leaned against the wall for support, obviously struggling, “Isn’t this awesome? I haven’t walked for ages and yet here I am,” he announced proudly.

McCoy didn’t miss the way Jim’s fingers were subtly clawing at his trousers, or how he was rubbing his head against the wall.

The doctor edged closer towards his patient.

“Jim, sit down.” He ordered firmly.

Kirk was shaking his head before he finished the sentence, “I’m fine.”

“You’re gonna collapse. Sit the hell down before I make you sit down.”

Jim was panting heavily now, his fingers balled into fists as he tried to keep himself awake.

“I can do this,” he persisted, licking his lips and staring fiercely at the wall.

Grunting, McCoy swiftly hit the button on the wall to make the turbolift jolt to a stop and turned to Jim, who was now sliding down the wall and onto the floor.

Kneeling beside him, McCoy gripped Jim’s wrist and measured his pulse while whipping out his scanner with his other hand.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered flippantly, watching Jim’s glassy eyes gaze up to meet his.

“Uh huh…really am…”

_Admitting defeat? That’s a first._

“Take a moment to relax, then we’ll see if we can’t get you on the bridge without fainting, alright?”

McCoy held back a smile as he watched Jim’s vitals spike at that, the idea of him supporting Jim’s stroll to the bridge obviously triggering some excitement.

 

A few minutes later and both men were now sprawled out in odd positions on the turbolift floor, finding it difficult to lay comfortably in such a confined space.

McCoy was holding the small scanner up to Jim’s torso incessantly, with Jim wondering when his arm was gonna start aching.

Eventually, he had enough of the irritating beeping.

“Bones, my stomach isn’t going to explode if you stop scanning me,” Jim scorned monotonously, an urge rising to swat the device out of his hands and send it flying across the room. The very small room. So technically Bones would just have to reach for it.

Bones was unphased, “It might do,” he began moving the scanner up to Jim’s chest and murmured, “I can’t find any symptoms of sepsis,” as if that was a problem.

Jim groaned, “That’s because _I’m fine!_ Bones! I’m sick of this!”

“I’m sick of this too, but my job is to keep you alive, so keep you alive I will,” the doctor retorted, then moved the device above Jim’s head.

And that was the limit.

“I said… _stop!”_ Jim smacked the device out of McCoy’s hands, causing the doctor to jolt back in surprise while Jim grabbed hold of it.

“Damn it, what the hell, Jim? Give that to me!” Bones hauled himself onto his knees and launched at Jim, while the kid simply rolled around the room clasping the device. “Stop being such an infant!”

“How do you turn this thing off?” Jim teased, staring at the device mockingly, before shuffling out the way from McCoy grabbing at him.

Back pressed against the wall, Jim threw the device across the other side of the room, waiting for Bones to leap over to it before smacking the button the wall to resume the turbolift.

The floor gave a loud _clunk_ before the transparent walls started blurring from the rapid movement again.

“You little shit,” McCoy hissed, standing up and storming over to the buttons, device clutched in hand.

Jim dove in front of the panel and protected it from his fanatical doctor.

Bones was unrelenting, however, and roughly pocketed the scanner while charging into the wall, hoping to get Jim to move out the way.

Jim remained in front of the controls, keeping his body pressed up against the wall and straining to keep McCoy away from him…

… _Swoosh._

The doors opened.

Instantly, both men jumped forward and straightened up, admittedly faster than they probably ever have done for a red alert.

Jim swallowed as he felt all eyes on the bridge were staring at him.

“…Captain-?” Spock asked in an almost surprised tone.

Bones nudged his side, “See, even pointy doesn’t think you should be here.”

“I did not say that, doctor, I am merely…surprised that the Captain has returned without due notice,” the Vulcan then stood up from the chair and stepped aside.

Jim pursed his lips into a thin line as the turbolift doors shut behind him, the urge to sit in the chair that was now vacant of a Captain too great.

But Bones would of course just stand in the way of his hopes and dreams.

“He’s only here because he decided to go for a stroll _without_ permission,” Bones noted, giving Jim the evil side glance.

Jim rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation, “I’d say I’m fit for duty, thank you, _doctor,”_ he grumbled. Damn, Bones was embarrassing him in front of his bridge crew.

Still, his doctor continued to fuss into oblivion and stared daggers at him, “ _The hell you are.”_

Jim opened his mouth to protest but the doctor continued;

“You damn near collapsed in the turbolift!” he hissed into Jim’s ear, “The hell you gonna do if we warp into a damn trap and you pass out in the chair? What then?”

Jim turned and glared at him.

_Don’t challenge me, Bones._

“Doctor, is there any reason why Kirk is still unfit for duty?” Spock interrupted them from in front of the chair.

Bones spoke up instantly, “Yeah, he’s still collapsing all over the damn place. He’s not ready, not to mention his exhaustion could put the whole damn crew in danger.”

Spock nodded once, wringing his hands behind his back, “Captain, perhaps it would be logical for you to return to duty once you have fully recovered. Clearly, you are not yet ready to command.”

_Betrayed by my first officer. Nice one, Spock._

Jim offered a forced smile at the Vulcan and turned to McCoy, who was obviously avoiding eye-contact with him. He felt his stomach tightening in anger.

“Alright, I’ll check in with you guys later,” he stated as evenly as he could, elbowing Bones in the arm to follow him out.

As the turbolift doors opened once again, he was subtly joyed to hear the gracious farewells of his bridge crew wishing him luck. Bones stalked in behind him, pulling out that dreaded scanner from Jim’s pocket.

Spock had the faintest smile on his lips when Jim turned around, and he nodded gently towards him as the doors closed.

Jim was then left staring at the white doors, the humming over the turbolift surrounding them. Bones had obviously stopped scanning him, which brought some kind of relief at least.

“Jim…”

“Don’t, Bones.”

“Jim, you’ll be ready soon, I’m countin’ on it.”

Jim chuckled darkly, “Don’t count on it, Bones, you’ll be disappointed.”

He didn’t flinch when a large hand fell on his shoulder.

“Jim. Look at me.”

Grunting, Jim turned his head towards his friend, staring at medical blues, unable to bring himself to make eye contact. It was only fair, Bones didn’t look at him earlier either.

Regardless, Bones clutched Jim’s chin and forced him to look up at him.

Jim squinted at him in playful suspicion.

“You’ve been through a lot—”

“Don’t give me this pep-talk now, Bones,” he sighed.

“Jim…you’ve been through a lot,” Bones gently soothed him, “You can’t expect yourself to be fit for duty not even a day after trying to walk again. Hell, _I_ can’t allow you to do that. You know this.”

Jim swallowed hard, “I’m better than this. I’m stronger than this.”

Bones was staring at him deeply in ways that Jim hadn’t even seen from the man before. Hell, he was an emotional man, but Jim never knew he was _this_ emotional.

“Take it slow. Tomorrow, we’ll come back. Walk a bit further, see if you won’t collapse in the turbolift and bring us both to the floor like a bunch of playschool children.”

Jim snorted at this, glancing down to the floor again. He wanted to progress faster than this, why was it taking so damn long?

“Hey.”

He sighed and gazed up at McCoy.

“I believe in you, kid.”

Jim’s stomach did flips, those words he didn’t know he needed to hear tugging a smile at his lips.

He took a deep breath and lay his head on his friend’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Bones…”

* * *

 

McCoy slammed a small plastic carton on Jim’s hospital table and subsequently pointed sternly at it.

“ _Drink_.” He ordered with a snarky raised eyebrow.

His patient was evading anything that could be digested. So, a small bottle of vitamins and nutrients were Jim’s last hope of not getting permanently taped to an IV tube.

Jim leaned forward curiously and gazed at it in thought for a few seconds.

“What is it?”

_It’s a drink you damned moron._

_“_ An alternative to eating. Drink this and we’ll go to the bridge. Don’t, and I’ll keep you in here for another three days.”

Jim frowned at the bottle as if it had infected his family with its poisonous healthiness.

He rolled his eyes, “Dammit, do I need to teach you like an infant? Take the cap off and drink it.”

Jim glared at him and slumped back against his bed.

“I know what it is, Bones,” Jim reached an arm out to push it away. Like a toddler. “I don’t want it.”

McCoy felt his soul leave his body, “Jim, for the love of god, just—” he grabbed the container and yanked the cap off, exposing it’s nice smelling strawberry-ness. “Drink this or I’m gonna pour it down your damn throat.”

Jim grinned, “Is that a threat?”

“You bet it is,” he scowled back.

McCoy watched Jim take a deep breath, the cogs in his head turning as if trying to figure out whether or not this concoction of ‘poison’ was worth the risk of drinking for his poor, overworked, addled friend who was just trying to help him.

To his surprise, Jim whipped the carton up and chugged the whole lot in one go.

“Jesus—Jim, breathe!”

The container was slammed back down on the table overdramatically, “You think I’m gonna stop breathing from drinking this? I knew you were trying to poison me,” Jim teased, pushing the table away to the left of him, McCoy stepping out the way.

A hint of a smile upturned his lips.

“Well, it would be an anticlimactic inscription on your personal log. ‘Jim Kirk died from drinking something too healthy too damn fast. How fuckin’ ironic.”

Jim exaggerated perkiness, “Swearing on a personal log, doctor? Doesn’t seem like you!”

He rolled his eyes, doing a light jump to the side of Jim’s bed and pressing the controls to raise it upright.

“Alright, kid, let’s try the bridge again,” he offered, to Jim’s delight, “This time, try not to faint in the turbolift.”

Kirk’s azure eyes lit up the way they do whenever McCoy or Spock enters the room. It warmed Bones’ cold dead heart up.

“So, how long will I stay down there for before I’m dragged back up here against my will?”

McCoy snorted, folding his arms across his chest and giving Jim a good visual once-over.

The blonde looked a hell of a lot better than he did a few days ago, and at least he was willing to try drinking something. It should eliminate the need of an IV.

“Don’t collapse on me and you’ll go back to your quarters after an hour instead of back here. That incentive enough for you?”

Jim’s wild eyes looked like they were about to _explode_ out of their sockets.

McCoy gently unhooked the IV from Jim’s arm and gave him a light pat on the hand to let him know he was done.

He said nothing but bounced up from the bed and practically ran barefooted in his hospital gown out of his room.

“Jim!” McCoy yelled, grabbing the dressing-gown flung over the side of the biobed and ran after him, “Dammit kid, come back here!”

As he darted out of the sickbay doors, he briefly saw Jim trapezing down the corridor like an excited child and darting inside the turbolift.

McCoy tried to catch up, but Jim rapidly pressing buttons closed the doors before he could get there. He threw his head back in exasperation and threw the dressing gown on the floor.

 

_Dammit, Jim._


End file.
